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V.    i 


In  Advance  of  Their  Time. 

From  The  Monthly   Review   (New  York  ) 
1     Georgre  Ticknor,  the  historian  of  Snanish  ■ 
literature,  was  once  called  as  a  witness  in  S 
a  case  in  which  Rufus  Choate  was  engaged  -^•• 
and,  being  seated  by  the  eminent  counselor' 
was  attracted  by  the  notes  which  he  had 
made  of  the  evidence.     After  eyeing  them 
with  interest  he  remarked  that  the  writing 
•  reminded  him  of  two   autograph  letters  in 
his  possession-one  of  Manuel  the  Great  of 
Portugal,    (dated    1512,)    and    the    other   of 
Gonsalvo   de   Cordova,    the   great   Captain 
written  a  few  years  earlier.     fAny  one  who 
has  glanced  over   these  remarkable  speci- 
mens  of   chirography   will    marvel    that   it 
was  possible  to' make  out  a  syllable  of  such 
illegible  scrawls.) 

.  "  These  letters,"  Mr.  Ticknor  assured  Mr. 
Choate,  "  were  written  330  years  ago,  and 
they  strongly  resemble  your  notes  of  the 
present  trial." 

Choate  instantly  repliea:  "Remarkable 
men,  no  doubt;  they  seem  to  have  been 
much  in  advance  of  their  time." 


.pU  iiy  -Souuiworin  &  h.awes 


/     O    if/l-tj       C    /icrVX^  /1_^ 


THE    WORKS 


RUFUS    CHOATE 


MEMOIR    OF    HIS    LIFE. 


BY 


SAMUEL   OILMAN  BROWN, 

PEOFESSOE  m   DAETMOUTH   COLLEGE. 


'Ev    [XVpTOV    Kkahl    TO    iL<f)0<;    icp6p€i. 


m  TWO  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  I. 


BOSTON: 
LITTLE,  BROWN  AND   COMPANY. 

1862. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by 

Helen  Olcott  Choate, 

in  the  Clerk's  OfBce  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


RIVERSIDE,   CAMBRIDGE: 
PRINTED    BY    H.    O.    HOUGHTON. 


To 

®l)€  iUfmorp  of 
LEMUEL  SHAW,   LL.D. 

FOR  THIRTT  TEARS  CHIEF  JUSTICE  OF   THE  SUPREilE  COURT  OP 
MASSACHUSETTS, 

THESE    WORKS    OF    RUFUS    CHOATE, 

WITH    THE    MEMOIR    OF    HIS    LIFE, 

ARE  RESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBED. 


PREFACE. 


When  first  requested  to  prepare  a  sketch  of  the  hfe  of  Mr. 
Choate,  I  was  not  ignorant  of  the  difficulty  of  writing-  it  so 
as  to  present  a  fair  and  complete  portraiture — the  traits  of  his 
character  were  so  peculiar,  its  lights  and  shades  so  delicate, 
various,  and  evanescent.  The  difficulty  has  not  grown  less  as 
I  have  proceeded  with  the  work,  and  no  one,  I  think,  can  be 
so  well  aware  as  I  am,  of  its  insufficiency. 

It  may  seem  singular  that  none  of  Mr.  Choate's  addresses 
to  a  jury  are  included  in  this  collection  of  his  speeches,  —  that 
the  department  of  eloquence  in  which  perhaps  he  gained  his 
greatest  fame,  should  here  be  unrepresented.  In  this  disap- 
pointment, those  by  whom  this  selection  has  been  made,  cer- 
tainly share.  It  was  not  until  the  very  last,  and  after  making 
a  careful  examination  of  every  accessible  report  of  his  legal 
arguments,  that  they  reluctantly  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
no  one  remained  which,  considering  the  nature  of  the  subject, 
or  of  the  report  itself,  would  do  justice  to  the  advocate,  or 
very  much  gratify  the  reader. 

As  to  Mr.  Choate's  political  sentiments  and  action  during 
the  later  years  of  his  life,  it  did  not  seem  necessary  to  do  more 
than  to  give  his  opinions  as  they  were  honestly  formed  and 
frankly  expressed.  The  time  has  not  yet  come  for  treating 
fully  and  with  entire  fairness  the  questions  of  those  days.  One 
still  "  walks  on  ashes  thinly  covering  fires." 

A  word  should  perhaps  be  said  with  reference  to  the 
fragments  of  translations  from  Thucydides  and  Tacitus,  which 


yi  PREFACE. 

close  these  volumes.  They  were  prepared  solely  as  a  private 
exercise  and  for  a  personal  pleasure  and  advantage.  They 
were  never  revised,  and  are  given  precisely  as  found  on  loose 
scraps  of  paper,  after  Mr.  Choate's  decease.  But  they  have 
struck  me,  as  well  as  others  upon  whose  better  judgment  I 
have  relied,  as  affording  examples  of  felicitous  and  full  render- 
ing of  difficult  authors,  and  as  indicating  something  of  the 
voluntary  labors  and  scholarly  discipline  of  an  overtasked  law- 
yer, who,  amidst  the  unceasing  and  wearisome  calls  of  an  ex- 
acting profession,  never  forgot  his  early  love  of  letters. 

No  one  unacquainted  with  Mr.  Choate's  handwriting  can 
imderstand  the  difficulty  of  preparing  his  manuscripts  for  the 
press.  For  performing  so  well  this  very  perplexing  labor,  the 
public  are  chiefly  indebted  to  Rufus  Choate,  Jr.,  and  Edward 
Ellerton  Pratt,  Esqs. 

With  a  singular  and  almost  unaccountable  indifference  to 
fame,  Mr.  Choate  took  no  pains  to  preserve  his  speeches. 
The  manuscript  of  the  lecture,  — written  at  first  with  the  most 
rapid  pen,  with  abbreviations,  erasures  and  interlineations,  — 
had  no  sooner  fulfilled  its  temporary  purpose,  than  it  was  thrust 
among  waste  papers  and  forgotten.  He  had  not  the  time,  or 
could  not  bring  himself  to  take  the  trouble  to  recall  his  lost 
orations  or  legal  arguments.  His  lecture  on  the  Romance  of 
the  Sea,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  popular  of  his  lectures, 
was  lost  or  stolen  in  New  York.  He  was  solicited  to  rewrite 
it,  and  could  doubtless,  at  any  time  for  years  afterward,  have 
reproduced  the  whole  — 

"  apparell'd  in  more  precious  habit, 

More  moving-delicate,  and  full  of  life," 

than  at  first,  but  other  matters  seemed  to  him  of  more  impor- 
tance, and  the  half  promise  with  which  he  beguiled  his  friends, 
was  never  fulfilled. 


PREFACE.  vii 

When  urged,  as  he  frequently  was,  to  prepare  a  volume  of 
speeches  for  the  press,  he  usually  quieted  the  solicitor  by  seem- 
ing to  accede  to  his  request,  or  evaded  him  by  some  rare  bit 
of  pleasantry. 

It  is  a  matter  of  congratulation,  then,  that  so  much  has  been 
rescued  from  irretrievable  loss.  It  has  even  been  found  nec- 
essary, in  order  not  to  overcrowd  the  volumes,  to  omit  many 
lectures  and  speeches,  which  all  who  heard  them  would  doubt- 
less be  glad  to  possess  in  a  permanent  form.  Among  these 
are  several  congressional  and  political  speeches,  his  speech  in 
the  Massachusetts  Convention  on  The  Basis  of  Representa- 
tion, and  his  lectures  on  The  Influence  of  Great  Cities,  on 
The  Mercantile  Profession,  on  Macaulay,  on  Rogers,  on  Jef- 
ferson, Hamilton,  and  Burr,  and  an  earlier  lecture  on  Poland. 
The  engraving  which  accompanies  this  volume,  from  a 
photograph  by  Messrs.  Southworth  &  Hawes,  is  consid- 
ered the  best  likeness  w^hich  exists  of  Mr.  Choate  in  rejoose. 
A  very  striking  portrait  by  Mr.  Ames, — the  original  of  which 
is  in  Dartmouth  College, — gives  the  orator  in  action.  Besides 
these,  Mr.  Brackett  has  moulded  a  spirited  head  in  plaster, 
and  Mr.  Thomas  Ball  has  sculptured  one  in  marble,  which 
for  dignity,  force  and  truthfulness,  can  hardly  be  surpassed. 

While  I  have  received  aid  from  many  sources,  which  I 
should  be  glad  particularly  to  designate,  I  cannot  help  ac- 
knowledging my  special  obligation  to  the  Members  of  the  Bar, 
especially  of  Suffolk  and  of  Essex,  many  of  whom  I  have  had 
occasion  to  consult,  and  from  all  have  received  every  assist- 
ance possible  without  reserve  or  hesitation.  I  am  also  much 
indebted  to  the  courtesy  of  Mr.  Everett  for  kindly  placing 
at  my  disposal  books  and  manuscripts  not  easily  accessible 
elsewhere,  which  were  indispensable  in  preparing  the  sketch 
of  Mr.  Choate's  life  in  Congress ;  and  to  Edward  G.  Par- 
ker, Esq.,  for  a  free  use  of  materials  which  he  had  collected 
in  preparing  his  "  Reminiscences." 


yjii  PREFACE. 

The  publication  of  these  volumes,  though  ready  for  the  press 
many  months  since,  has  been  delayed  by  causes  which  will  oc- 
cur to  every  one.  In  the  great  peril  of  the  Republic,  what 
else  could  be  thought  of?  What  eloquence  be  heard  but  that 
of  the  civil  war  ]  But  the  counsels  of  the  wise  will  acquire  a 
deeper  meaning,  and  the  eloquence  of  patriotism  be  listened 
to  with  a  readier  acquiescence,  when  from  the  present  tumult 
and  strife,  we  shall  emerge  upon  another  era  "bright  and 
tranquil." 

S.  G.  B. 

Hanover,  N.  H.,  October  13,  1862. 


CONTENTS   OF   VOLUME    I. 


MEMOIR. 

Page 
CHAPTER   I.  — 1799-1830 1 

Birth  —  Ancestry  —  Boyhood  —  Account  by  his  brother  —  Studies 

—  Characteristics  —  Enters  College  —  Hank  —  Testimony  of  Class- 
mates —  Dartmouth  College  Case  —  Its  Influence  on  his  Choice  of 
a  Profession  —  Extract  from  Judge  Perley's  Eulogy  —  Enters  Law 
School  in  Cambridge  —  Goes  to  Washington  and  Studies  with  Mr. 
Wirt  —  Death  of  his  Brother  Washington  —  Returns  to  Essex  — 
Admission  to  the  Bar  —  Testimony  of  ]\Ir.  Wirt  —  Opens  an  Office 
in  South   Danvers  —  Letter  to  James  Marsh  —  Marriage  —  Success 

—  Fidelity  to  Clients  —  Letter  from  Judge  Shaw  —  Memoranda  of 
Hon.  Asahel  Huntington. 

CHAPTER  n.—  1830-40 - 24 

Removal  to  Salem  —  The  Essex  Bar  —  Successes  —  Appearance 

—  Counsel  in  the  Knapp  Case —  Studies —  Letter  to  President  Marsh 

—  Elected  to  Congress  —  Commonplace  Book  —  Letter  to  President 
Marsh  —  Enters  Congress —  Sjieeches  on  Revolutionary  Pensions  and 
on  the  Tariff— Letter  to  Dr.  Nichols  — Letter  to  Prof  Bush  —  The 
Second  Session  —  Georgia  and  the  Missionaries  —  Letter  to  Prof. 
Bush  —  Reelected  to  Congress  —  Speech  on  the  Removal  of  the  De- 
posits —  Resigns  his  Seat —  Removes  to  Boston  —  Lecture  on  "  The 
Waverley  Novels,"  and  on  the  "  Romance  of  the  Sea  "  —  Death  of  his 
Youngest  Child. 

CHAPTER   III.  —  1841-43 46 

Professional  Advancement —  Letters  to  R.  S.  Storrs,  Jr.  —  Chosen 
Senator  in  place  of  Mr.  Webster  —  Death  of  General  Harrison  — 
Eulogy  in  Faneuil  Hall  —  Extra  Session  of  Congress  —  Speech  on 
the  M'Leod  Case  —  The  Fiscal  Bank  Bill  —  Collision  with  Mr.  Clay 

—  Nomination  of  Mr.  Everett  as  Minister  to  England  —  Letter  to  Mr. 
Sumner  —  Letters  to  his  Son  —  The  Next  Session — Speech  on  Pro- 
viding further  Remedial  Justice  in  the  United  States  Courts  —  Letter 
to  Mr.  Sumner  —  The  Northeastern  Boundary  Question  —  Journal. 

CHAPTER  IV.  — 1843-44....: 72 

Address  before  the  New  England  Society  of  New  York  —  Letter 
to  Prof  Bush  —  Letters  to  Mr.  Sumner  —  Letter  to  his  Daughters  — 
Speech  on  Oregon  —  First  Speech  on  the  Tariff — Second  Speech, 
in  Reply  to  Mr.  M'Duffie  —  Journal. 


CONTENTS   OF  VOLUME  I. 


CHAPTER  v.  — 1844-45 92 

Political  Excitement  —  Speaks  for  Mr.  Clay  —  Meetinjj  of  Con- 
press  —  Diary  —  Annexation  of  Texas  —  Admission  of  Iowa  and 
Florida  —  Establishment  of  the  Smithsonian  Institution  —  Library 
Plan  —  Letters  to  Hon.  C.  W.  Upham  —  Illness  of  Dr.  Sewall — 
Letter  to  Mrs.  Brinley. 

CHAPTER  VL— 1845-49 109 

Address  before  the  Law  School  in  Cambridge  —  Argues  the  Case 
of  Rhode  Island  vs.  Massachusetts  —  Defence  of  Tirrell  —  Oliver 
Smith's  Will  Case — Speaks  in  favor  of  General  Taylor — Offer  of 
a  Professorship  in  the  Cambridge  Law  School  —  Offer  of  a  Seat  upon 
the  Bench— The  Phillips  Will  Case  —  Journal. 

CHAPTER  VIL—  1850 139 

Change  of  Partnership  —  Voyage  to  Europe  — •  Letters  to  Mrs. 
Choate  —  Journal. 

CHAPTER  VIIL—  1850-55 162 

Political  Excitement  —  Union  Meeting  —  Address  on  Washington, 
February,  1851  —  Case  of  Fairchild  vs.  Adams  —  Addresses  the  Story 
Association  —  Webster   Meeting  in   Faneuil    Hall,  November,   1851 

—  Argues  India-Rubber  Case  in  Trenton  —  Baltimore  Convention, 
June,  1852  —  Address  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society,  Burlington, 
Vt.  —  Journey  to  Quebec  —  Death  of  Mr.  Webster  —  Letter  to  E.  Jack- 
son —  Letter  to  Harvey  Jewell,  Esq.  —  Letter  to  Mrs.  Eames  —  Offer 
of  the  Attorney-Generalship  —  Convention  to  revise  the  Constitu- 
tion of  Massachusetts  —  Eulogy  on  Daniel  Webster  at  Dartmouth 
College  —  Letter  to  his  Daughter  Sarah  —  Letters  to  Mrs.  Eames  — 
Letter  to  Mr.  Everett  —  Letters  to  his  Son  —  Letters  to  his  Daughter 
Sarah  —  Address  at  the  Dedication  of  the  Peabody  Institute,  Septem- 
ber, 1854  —  Letters  to  Mr.  Everett  —  Letter  to  Mrs.  Eames  —  Acci- 
dent and  Illness — Letters  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eames. 

CHAPTER  IX.  —  1855-58 198 

Love  of  the  Union  —  Letter  to  the  Whig  Convention  at  Worcester, 
October,  1855  —  Letter  to  Rev.  Chandler  Robbins  —  Lecture  on  the 
Early  British  Poets  of  this  Century,  March,  1856 —  Sir  Walter  Scott 

—  Political  Campaign  of  1856  —  Determines  to  Support  Mr.  Bu- 
chanan —  Letter  to  the  Whigs  of  Maine  —  Speech  at  Lowell  —  Letter 
to  J.  C.  Walsh  —  Professional  Position  —  His  Library  —  Lecture  on  the 
Eloquence  of  Revolutionary  Periods,  February,  1857  —  Defence  ofMrs. 
Dalton  —  Oration  before  the  Boston  Democratic  Club,  July  5,  1858. 

CHAPTER   X.  —  1859 236 

Failing  Health  —  Speech  at  the  Webster  Festival,  January,  1859 

—  Address  at  the  P^ssex  Street  Church  —  Last  Law  Case  —  Goes  to 
Dorchester — (X'cupations  —  Decides  to  go  to  Europe  —  Letter  to 
Hon.  Charles  Eames  —  Letter  to  Alfred  Abbott,  Esq.  —  Sails  in  the 
Europa,  Captain  Leitch  —  Illness  on  Board  —  Lands  at  Halifax  — 
Letter  from  Hon.  George  S.  Hillard  —  Sudden  Death  —  Proceedings 
of  Public  Bodies  — IMeoting  of  the  Boston  Bar —  Speeches  of  Hon. 
C.  G.  Loring,  R.  H.  Dana,  Jr.,  Judge  Curtis,  and  Judge  Sprague — 
Meeting  in  Faneuil  Hall—  Speech  of  Mr.  Everett  —  Funeral. 

CHAPTER   XL 273 

Letter  from  Hon.  John  H.  Clifford  —  Reminiscences  of  Mr.  Choate's 


CONTENTS   OF  VOLUME  I.  xi 

Page 
Habits  in  bis  Office  —  Thorough  Preparation  of  Cases  —  Manner  of 
Legal  Study  —  Intercourse  with  the  younger  Members  of  the  Bar  — 
Manner  to  the  Court  and  the  Jury  —  Charges  and  Income  —  Vocab- 
ulary —  Wit  and  Humor  —  Anecdotes  —  Eloquence  —  Style  —  Note 
from  Rev.  Joseph  Tracy  —  Memory  —  Quotations  —  Fondness  for 
Books  —  Reminiscences  by  a  Friend  —  Life  at  Home  —  Conversa- 
tion —  Religious  Feeling  and  Belief 

LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

The  Importance  of  Illustrating  New-England  History  by  a 

Series  of  Romances  like  the  Waverly  Novels. 319 

Delivered  at  Salem,  1833. 
The  Colonial  Age  of  New  England 847 

An  Address  Delivered  at  the  Centennial  Celebration  of  the  Settle- 
ment of  the  town  of  Ipswich,  Mass.,  August  16,  1834. 

The  Age  of  the  Pilgrims  the  Heroic  Period  op  our  History-  •  •  871 

An  Address  Delivered  in  New  York  before  the  New  England  Asso- 
ciation, December,  1843, 

The  Power  of  a  State  Developed  by  Mental  Culture 394 

A  Lecture  Delivered  before  the  Mercantile  Library  Association, 
November  18,  1844. 

The  Position  and  Functions  of  the  American  Bar  as  an  Ele- 
ment OF  Conservatism  in  the  State 414 

An  Address  Delivered  before  the  Law  School  in  Cambridge,  July 
3,  1845. 

The  Eloquence  of  Revolutionary  Periods 439 

A  Lecture  Delivered  before  the  Mechanic  Apprentices'  Library 
Association,  February  19,  1857. 

Address  Delivered  in  South  Danvers  at  the  Dedication  of 

THE  Peabody  Institute,  September  29,  1854 464 

Remarks    before   the   Circuit   Court   on   the    Death  of   Mr. 

Webster 479 

A  Discourse  Commemorative  of  Daniel  Webster 493 

Delivered  before  the  Faculty,  Students,  and  Alumni  of  Dartmouth 
College,  July  27,  1853. 


ERRATA. 


Page  77,  18th  line  from  bottom,  read  1789  for  1799. 
Page  233, 13th  liue  from  top,  read  Croswell  for  Creswell. 


MEMOIR 


RUFUS    CHOATE 


CHAPTER   I. 

1799-1830. 


Birth  of  Rufus  Choate  —  Ancestry  —  Boyhood  —  Account  by  his  Brother  — 
Studies  —  Characteristics  —  Enters  College  —  Rank  —  Testimony  of  Class- 
mates—  Dartmouth  College  Case  —  Its  Influence  on  his  Choice  of  a  Profes- 
sion—  Extract  from  Judge  Perley's  Eulogy  —  Enters  Law  School  in  Cam- 
bridge —  Goes  to  Washington  and  Studies  "vvith  Mr.  Wirt  —  Death  of  his 
Brother  Washington  —  Returns  to  Essex  —  Admission  to  the  Bar  —  Testi- 
mony of  Mr.  Wirt  —  Opens  an  Office  in  South  Dan  vers  —  Letter  to  James 
Marsh  —  Marriage  —  Success  —  Fidelity  to  Clients  —  Letter  from  Judge 
Shaw — Testimony  of  Hon.  Asahel  Huntington. 

In  the  south-eastern  part  of  the  old  town  of  Ipswich, 
Mass.,  on  an  island  which  rises  in  its  centre  to  a  considerable 
elevation  and  commands  a  view  of  the  open  ocean  and  the 
neighboring  villages,  Rufus  Choate  was  born,  as  his  father, 
with  ancient  precision,  recorded  the  event  in  the  Family  Bible, 
"Tuesday,  Oct.  1,  1799,  at  3  o'clock,  p.  m."  He  was  the 
second  son,  and  the  fourth  of  six  children.  The  district  was 
then  called  Chebacco :  it  has  since  been  formed  into  a  sep- 
arate town  bearing  the  name  of  Essex.  The  inhabitants,  for 
the  most  part  devoted  to  agriculture,  were  enterprising,  fru- 
gal, thrifty,  and  intelligent.  The  earliest  ancestor  of  Mr. 
Choate  in  this  country  was  John  Choate,  who  took  the  oath 
of  allegiance  in  1667.  From  him,  the  subject  of  this  bio- 
graphical sketch  is  of  the  fifth  generation  by  direct  descent. 
The  family  spread  widely  in  Essex  County,  and  several 
members  of   it    attained   to   considerable  distinction.^ 

J  In    1741,  John  Choate,  Esq.,  was  many     important     committees  — till 

a  member  of  the  House  of  Represen-  1761,  when   he  was   elected  into  the 

tatives   for   Ipswich,  and  Avas  elected  Board  of  Councillors,  (who  were  then 

Speaker;   but   the   election  was   neg-  what    both   the    Senate    and    Council 

atived    by    Governor     Belcher.      He  now  are  in  Massachusetts,)  to  which 

continued    a   prominent    member    of  responsible  position  he  was   reelected 

the  House  —  his  name  appearing  on  every  successive  year  till  1766. 

VOL.  I.  1 


2  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS    CHOATE.  [Chap.  I. 

The  paternal  grandmother  of  Mr.  Choate,  whose  maiden 
name  was  Mary  Giddings,  was  a  matron  worthy  of  the  hest 
days  of  New  England.^  His  father  was  David  Choate,  a  man 
of  nncommon  intellectual  endowments,  of  sound  and  indepen- 
dent judgment,  a  wise  counsellor,  sociable,  sagacious,  modest, 
keen,  and  witty.  He  was  held  in  high  estimation  as  a  man 
of  stability,  unswerving  integrity,  and  weight  of  character,  and 
was  often  chosen  to  fill  places  of  responsibility  and  trust. 

On  one  occasion,  as  administrator  on  the  estate  of  his 
uncle  John  Choate,  he  was  obliged  to  go  to  Boston  to  look 
after  a  case  in  court.  At  the  trial,  the  counsel  upon  whom 
he  had  rehed  failed  to  appear.  Mr.  Choate  thereupon  asked 
that  the  cause  might  be  continued.  On  stating  the  matter  as 
clearly  as  he  could,  the  Judge,  after  a  little  consultation, 
said  to  him,  "  I  think  j^ou-  understand  the  case,  Mr.  Choate, 
and  we  can  manage  it  together.  You  had  better  conduct  it 
yourself."  Thus  unexpectedly  summoned  to  the  bar,  after 
some  hesitation  he  called  his  witnesses,  made  his  argument, 
and  obtained  a  verdict. 

There  is  a  report,  which  seems  to  rest  on  good  authority, 
that  at  the  time  of  the  ratification  of  the  Federal  Constitu- 
tion in  Massachusetts  he  wrote  several  articles  for  a  Boston 
newspaper  in  favor  of  that  measure,  under  the  signature  of 
"Farmer,"  some  of  which  were  currently  ascribed  to  Theophilus 
Parsons,  already  an  eminent  lawyer,  and  afterwards  Chief 
Justice  of  the  State.  Mr.  Choate  died  in  1808,  before  his  son 
had  attained  his  ninth  year. 

The  mother  of  Rufus  was  Miriam  Foster,  a  quiet,  sedate, 
but  cheerful  woman,  dignified  in  manner,  quick  in  perception,  of 
strong  sense  and  ready  wit.  Her  son  was  said  to  resemble  her 
in  many  characteristics  of  mind  and  person.  She  lived  to  see 
his  success  and  enjoy  his  fame,  and  died  in  1853,  at  the  ven- 
erable age  of  eighty-one. 

When  his  son  was  about  six  months  old,  Mr.  David  Choate 
removed  from  the  island  to  the  village  on  the  mainland, 
about  three  miles  distant,  but  still  retained  the  old  homestead. 

1  Her  courage   is   indicated  by  an  wise  have  offered  a  tempting  prize  to 

anecdote  told  of  her,  that  in  the  War  the  British  cruisers,  she,  with  her  two 

of  the  Revolution,  when  all  the  vien  small  children,  remained  fearless  upon 

left  the  island,  driving  to  the  uplands  the  farm. 
the  herds  of  cattle  which  would  other- 


1799-1830.]  EARLY   LIFE.  3 

It  had  been  in  possession  of  the  family  for  four  generations, 
and  for  more  than  a  hundred  years,  and  is  still  owned  by  an 
older  brother  of  Mr.  Choate.^  An  arm  of  the  sea  flows  pleas- 
antly about  it,  and  a  little  creek  runs  up  to  within  twenty  rods 
of  the  old  dwellino-,  which  stands  on  the  hill-side,  hardly 
changed  from  what  it  was  sixty  years  since,  of  two  stories, 
heavy-timbered,  low-roomed,  with  beams  across  the  ceiling, 
bare  and  weather-beaten,  but  with  a  cheerful  southerly  outlook 
towards  the  marshes,  the  sea,  and  the  far-off  rocky  shore  of 
Cape  Ann. 

The  new  residence  still  commanded  a  view  of  the  ocean. 
The  little  village  was  the  head  of  navigation  for  a  species  of 
fishing-craft  much  built  there,  known  along  the  coast  as 
"Chebacco  boats."  Frequent  excursions  to  the  old  farm 
were,  of  course,  necessary,  and  .these  little  voyages  down 
the  river  which  forces  its  crooked  way  through  the  salt 
marshes,  were  generally  made  in  a  canoe  dug  out  of  a  solid 
log.  During  the  war  of  181i2,  the  English  and  American 
cruisers  were  frequently  seen  in  the  bay.  On  one  occasion 
especially,  the  "Tenedos"  and  "Shannon,"  tall  and  beauti- 
ful, "  sitting  like  two  swans  upon  the  water,"  were  watched 
from  the  shore  with  great  interest,  and  by  none  with  more 
concentrated  gaze  than  by  the  boy  Rufus.  All  these  circum- 
stances,—  the  murmur  of  the  sea  which  lulled  him  to  sleep, 
the  rage  of  the  ocean  in  a  storm,  the  white  sails  in  the  distant 
harbor,  the  boats  which  went  out  of  the  river  and  never  re- 
turned, the  stories  of  adventures  and  perils,  —  naturally  tended 
to  stimulate  his  imagination,  to  cherish  that  love  of  the  sea 
which  became  almost  a  passion,  and  which  so  often  shows 
itself  in  his  speeches  and  writings.  To  the  last,  he  thought 
that  to  be  a  sea-captain  was  "  eminently  respectable."  Accounts 
of  naval  battles  he  read  with  the  greatest  eagerness,  and  many 
were  the  mimic  contests  on  land  to  which  they  gave  birth.  "  I 
well  remember,"  says  his  brother,  "  his  acting  over  certain 
parts  of  a  sea-fight  with  other  boys,  he  telling  them  what  to 
do,  how  to  load,  at  what  to  aim,  not  how  to  strike  a  flag,  (that 
never  seemed  to  come  into  the  category.)  but  how  to  nail  one 
to  the  mast,  with  orders  to  let  it  wave  wdiile  he  lived.  Many 
of  his  chimney-corner  sports  had  relation  to  either  naval  or 
1  Hon.  David  Choate. 


4  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATPl  [Chap.  I. 

land  engagements.  I  remember  that  while  he  and  Washing- 
ton,^ were  waiting  for  the  family  to  breakfast,  dine,  or  sup, 
(that  was  the  way  the  children  were  then  taught  to  do,)  one 
would  have  the  dog  and  the  other  the  cat,  each  holding  it  fast, 
and,  at  the  signal,  bringing  them  suddenly  together  in  imita- 
tion of  two  hostile  ships  or  armies,  Rufus,  in  the  mean  time, 
repeating  the  story  of  a  real  or  imagined  fight  with  as  much 
volubility  as  he  ever  afterwards  used  in  court,  and  with  such 
an  arrangement  of  the  plan  of  the  fight  as  made  all  seem 
wonderfully  real." 

Scenes  of  military  and  naval  life  fastened  strongly  upon  his 
imagination.  He  often  said  that  nothing  ever  made  a  deeper 
impression  upon  his  boyish  mind  than  the  burial  of  an  oflBcer 
with  military  honors,  and  the  volleys  fired  over  his  grave.  In 
August,  1813,  he  went  to  .Salem  to  witness  the  ceremony  of 
the  reinterment  of  the  bodies  of  Capt.  James  Lawrence  and 
Lieut.  Augustus  C.  Ludlow,  who  were  killed  on  board  the 
"  Chesapeake,"  and  were  at  first  buried  at  Halifax.  Although 
he  could  not  hear  Judge  Story's  Eulogy,  he  made  his  brother 
repeat  to  him  all  that  he  could  remember  of  it.  The  opening 
sentence,  "Welcome  to  their  native  shores  be  the  remains  of 
our  departed  heroes ;  "  especially  filled  him  with  ecstasy.  It 
is  not  surprising,  then,  that  the  dreams  of  his  early  ambition 
should  have  been  of  braving  the  perils  of  the  sea,  or  com- 
manding a  man-of-war. 

His  constitution  was  vigorous,  and  in  all  the  sports  of  boy- 
hood he  was  more  than  a  match  for  his  companions,  spend- 
ing as  many  hours  as  any  one  upon  the  play-ground,  and 
tiring  out  almost  all  his  competitors  by  his  activity  and  skill. 
In  the  necessary  labor  of  the  farm  he  was  equally  diligent  and 
faithful.  A  man  is  now  living  with  whom  he  once  worked  in 
laying  a  stone  wall,  and  who  thought  it  a  pity  that  so  strong 
and  active  a  lad  should  be  sent  to  college,  but  pardoned  it, 
when  really  (k'termined  upon,  because  he  worked  so  well. 

An  intense  love  of  reading  and  of  knowledge  in  general 
was  early  develo|)ed.  Before  he  was  six  years  old,  he  had 
devoured  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  and  used  afterwards  to 
gather  his  companions  and  rehearse  it  to  them  from  mem- 
ory. Bunyan  was  always  a  great  favorite.  But  a  few  years 
1  His  younger  brother. 


1799-1830.]  EARLY   LIFE.  5 

before  he  died,  he  borrowed  from  his  brother  the  old  volume, 
with  its  quaint  pictures  and  soiled  pages,  which  brought  back 
so  much  of  his  childhood.  Another  book,  of  a  different  kind, 
which  he  used  to  read  with  the  greatest  avidity  was  a  worn 
and  well-thumbed  copy  of  the  "Life  of  Maurice,  Count  Saxe," 
from  which  a  year  or  two  since,  he  repeated  page  after  page, 
to  the  surprise  and  amusement  of  some  of  his  family  by  whom 
a  question  had  been  started  with  reference  to  the  battle  of 
Fontenoy.  "  Marshal  Saxe  at  the  Opera,"  (accenting  the 
second  syllable  according  to  his  boyish  habit,)  used  long  to 
be  one  of  the  playful  phrases  in  use  between  himself  and  his 
children. 

The  village  library  of  a  few  hundred  volumes,  containing  such 
works  as  "Rollin's  Ancient  History,"  "Josephus,"  "Plutarch," 
"Telemachus,"  and  "  Hutchinson's  history  of  Massachusetts," 
he  had  pretty  nearly  exhausted  before  he  was  ten  years  old. 
During  all  these  early  years  the  Bible  was  read  and  re-read 
with  more  than  ordinary  thoughtfulness,  and  early  in  the  war 
of  1812,  he  made  what  he  thought  was  the  great  discov- 
ery of  an  undoubted  prophecy  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  in  the 
Book  of  Daniel.  He  was,  at  the  same  time,  an  attentive  and 
critical  hearer  of  sermons,  even  if  the  minister  was  dull. 
"  When  about  nine  years  old,"  says  his  brother,    "  he    took 

us  all    by   surprise  one   Sabbath  noon,  by  saying  '  Mr.  

(naming  the  preacher)  had  better  mind  what  he  says  about 
James  (the  apostle,)  even  James,'  repeating  the  words  em- 
phatically. The  minister  had  been  quoting  Paul,  and  added, 
'  even  James  says.  For  what  is  your  life  ? '  The  remark 
went  to  show  us — the  family — not  only  that  he  had  attended 
to  what  had  been  said  (which  we  had  not  done)  but  that  he 
saw  an  objection  to  the  comparison,  im.jMed  at  least,  between 
the  two  apostles,  both  of  whom  were  inspired,  and  conse- 
quently that  the  inspiration  of  James  must  have  been  as  good 
as  that  of  Paul,  because  of  the  same  origin  in  both." 

He  was  remarkable  during  his  youth  for  the  same  sweet- 
ness of  temper,  and  quick  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  which  he 
carried  with  him  through  life.  He  was  easily  persuaded  to 
a  particular  course  of  conduct,  by  his  mother  or  sisters,  and 
could  not  bear  to  grieve  them,  and  so  in  all  differences  be- 
tween them,  if  he  could  not  carry  his  point  by  good-natured 
1* 


5  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  I. 

pleasantry,  he  would  yield  with  the  best  grace  in  the  world. 
By  the  same  humor,  he  sometimes  warded  off  reproof,  even 
when  justly  merited.  An  older  sister  was  once  beginning 
to  admonish  him  for  something  which  he  had  done,  which 
was  clearly  wrong.  He  saw  it  coming  and  was  determined  to 
break  the  force  of  it.  While  she  was  bestowing  the  rebuke  with 
the  earnestness  which  the  offence  seemed  to  deserve,  happen- 
ing to  raise  her  eyes,  she  saw  him  standing  with  his  right  hand 
up  by  the  side  of  his  head,  in  the  attitude  of  a  person  to  whom 
an  oath  is  administered,  and  with  a  face  of  extraordinary  de- 
mureness  and  solemnity.  The  sight  of  him  in  this  roguish 
position  put  an  end  at  once  to  the  lecture  and  to  the  feeling 
which  prompted  it.     The  loudest  of  laughs  ended  the  scene. 

In  all  boyish  sports  and  studies,  his  companions  were  few : 
the  most  intimate  of  them  all  was  his  brother  Washington,  a 
little  more  than  three  years  younger  than  himself.  Although 
during  his  early  youth  neither  of  his  parents  were  members 
of  the  church,  the  moral  discipline  of  the  family  was  careful 
and  exact,  A  portion  of  the  "  Assembly's  Catechism  "  was 
recited  every  Sabbath,  and  the  lessons  thus  learned  were  so 
deeply  engraven  on  his  memory  as  never  to  be  forgotten.  On 
one  occasion  in  later  life,  in  commenting  upon  the  testimony 
of  a  witness  who  professed  his  willingness  to  do  any  job  that 
might  offer  on  Sunday,  just  as  he  would  on  any  other  day, 
Mr.  Choate  repeated  word  for  word,  one  of  the  long  answers 
of  that  venerable  symbol,  on  the  import  of  the  fourth  com- 
mandment, and  then  turning  to  the  Court,  said,  "  May  it 
please  your  Honor,  my  mother  taught  me  this  in  my  earliest 
childhood,  and  I  trust  I  shall  not  forget  it  in  my  age." 

Mr.  Choate  was  favored  in  his  childhood  with  some  excel- 
lent friends  beyond  the  circle  of  his  own  relatives.  Among 
these  was  the  now  venerable  Dr.  R.  D.  Mussey,  who  com- 
menced the  practice  of  the  profession  in  which  he  afterwards 
became  so  eminent,  in  Essex,  and  for  several  years  resided  in 
the  family  of  Mr.  David  Choate.  At  the  age  of  ten  years, 
Ruhis  began  the  study  of  Latin,  under  the  instruction  of  Dr. 
Thomas  Sewall,^  who   had  taken  Dr.  Mussey 's  place.       He 

'  Dr.  Sewall  afterward  married  Mr.     where  he  was  long  known  as  an  emi- 
Choatu's  oldest  sister,  and  subsecjucnt-     nent  physician, 
ly   removed    to    Washington,    D.    C, 


1799-1830.]  EARLY   LIFE.  7 

continued  his  studies  for  a  few  months,  yearly,  during  the 
next  six  years,  under  the  clergyman  of  the  parish,  Rev.  Mr. 
Holt,  or  the  teachers  of  the  district  school.  Among  these 
should  be  mentioned  Rev.  Dr.  William  Cogswell,  who  taught 
the  school  during  the  successive  winters  of  his  Junior  and 
Senior  years  in  college. 

These  opportunities,  of  course,  afforded  the  young  student 
a  very  imperfect  discipline,  but  they  served  in  some  degree  to 
stimulate  his  mind,  while  teaching  him  the  necessity  of  self- 
reliance  and  independent  exertion.  Certain  it  is  that  with  his 
poor  chances  he  accomplished  more  than  most  others  with 
the  best.  He  meditated  upon  what  he  read,  and  treasured 
up  the  fruits  in  a  retentive  memory.  His  imagination  even 
then  pictured  the  scenes  of  ancient  story,  and  transferred 
the  fictions  of  Homer  and  Virgil  to  the  shores  of  Essex. 
"  There,"  said  he,  pointing  out  a  rocky,  cavernous  knoll  to  his 
son-in-law,  as  they  were  riding  a  few  years  since  from  Ipswich 
to  Essex,  "  there  is  the  descent  to  Avernus."  This  habit  of 
making  the  scenes  of  poetry  and  history  real,  of  vivifying 
them  through  his  imagination,  was  one  which  followed  him 
through  life,  and  contributed  largely  to  his  power  as  an  orator. 
Something  allied  to  this  is  that  touch  of  human  sympathy  for 
inanimate  objects,  of  which  Dr.  Adams  speaks  in  his  Funeral 
Address.  When  as  a  boy  he  drove  his  father's  cow,  "  he  has 
said  that  more  than  once,  when  he  had  thrown  away  his  switch, 
he  has  returned  to  find  it,  and  has  carried  it  back,  and  thrown 
it  under  the  tree  from  which  he  took  it,  for,  he  said,  '  Perhaps 
there  is,  after  all,  some  yearning  of  nature  between  them  still.'" 

By  way  of  completing  his  preparation  for  college  he  was 
sent,  in  January,  1815,  to  the  academy  in  Hampton,  N.  H., 
of  which  James  Adams  was  then  the  principal.  Here  he  re- 
mained till  summer  when  he  entered  the  Freshman  class  in 
Dartmouth  College,  near  the  close  of  his  sixteenth  year.  His 
classmates  remember  him  as  a  diffident,  modest,  beautiful  boy, 
the  yop'igest  in  the  class  v/ith  two  exceptions,  singularly  at- 
tractive in  person  and  manner,  of  a  delicate  frame,  with  dark 
curling  hair,  a  fresh,  ruddy  complexion,  a  beautifully  ingenu- 
ous countenance,  his  movements  marked  with  a  natural  grace 
and  vivacity,  and  his  mind  from  the  first  betraying  the  spirit 
of  a  scholar. 


8  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  I. 

"  There  he  brought,"  says  one  of  his  eulogists,^  "  a  mind 
burning  with  a  thirst  for  knowledge,  which  death  alone  had 
power  to  quench,  kindled  with  aspirations  lofty,  but  as  yet  un- 
defined and  vague,  and  stocked  with  an  amount  of  general  in- 
formation quite  remarkable  for  his  years  ;  a  physical  constitu- 
tion somewhat  yielding  and  pliant,  of  great  nervous  sensibility, 
but  equalled  by  few  for  endurance  and  elastic  strength.  He 
came  pure  from  every  taint  of  vice,  generous,  enthusiastic,  es- 
tablished in  good  principles,  good  habits,  and  good  health." 
The  necessary  imperfection  of  his  fitting  for  college,  and  his 
own  modesty,  prevented,  in  a  measure,  the  full  recognition  of 
his  ability  during  the  first  term  of  his  residence  at  Dartmouth. 
But  the  deficiency,  if  it  were  one,  was  soon  supplied.  He  ac- 
quired knowledge  with  extraordinary  rapidity.  His  memory 
was  very  retentive,  the  command  of  his  faculties,  and  his 
power  of  concentration  perfect.  "  His  perception  of  the  truths 
of  a  new  lesson,"  says  one  of  his  classmates,  "  and  their  con- 
nection and  relation  to  other  truths  already  familiar  to  him, 
was  so  intuitive  and  rapid,  that  I  have  yet  to  learn  the  first 
man  who  could  study  a  new  subject  in  company  with  him,  and 
not  prove  a  clog  and  an  incumbrance."  At  the  same  time  he 
was  a  most  diligent  and  faithful  student, 

"  I  entered  the  class,"  writes  another  member  of  it,^  "  in 
the  spring  of  Freshman  year,  when  its  members  had  already 
joined  the  societies  and  found  their  affinities.  ...  I  was  ac- 
quainted with  some  members  of  the  class  before  I  entered 
college,  and  remember  making  natural  inquiries  in  the  winter 
vacation,  about  the  associates  I  should  find  in  it.  Several  were 
named  as  having  taken  high  rank  during  the  fall  term,  but 
Choate  was  not  mentioned.  I  was  the  more  struck  therefore, 
at  the  first  recitation,  as  I  watched  each  successive  voice  with 
the  keen  curiosity  of  a  new-comer,  when  Choate  got  up,  and 
in  those  clear  musical  tones  put  Livy's  Latin  into  such  exqui- 
sitely fit  and  sweet  English,  as  I  had  not  dreamed  of,  and  in 
comparison  with  which  all  the  other  construing  of  that  morn- 
ing seemed  the  roughest  of  unlicked  babble.     After  the  first 

1  Hon.  Ira  Perley,  lately  Chief  Jus-        2  E.  C.  Tracy,  for  many  years  editor 
tice  of  the    Supreme    Court  of  New     of  the  "  Vermont  Chronicle." 
Hampshire,  in  a  eulogy  pronounced  at 
Dartmouth  College,  July  25,  18G0. 


1799-1830.]  COLLEGE   LIFE.  9 

sentence  or  two,  I  had  no  doubt  who  was  the  first  classical 
scholar  among  us,  or  who  had  the  best  command  of  English. 
I  was  on  one  side  of  the  room  and  he  on  the  other,  and  I  re- 
member as  if  but  yesterday,  his  fresh,  personal  beauty,  and  all 
the  s;-raceful  charm  of  modest,  deferential  look  and  tone  that 
accompanied  the  honeyed  words.  .  .  .  The  impression  that 
his  first  words  made  upon  me  was  peculiar ;  and  nothing-,  lit- 
erally nothing,  while  in  college  or  since,  ever  came  from  him 
to  disturb  the  affectionate  admiration,  with  which  in  the  old  re- 
citation-room, in  the  presence  of  Tutor  Bond,  I  first  heard  his 
voice,  his  words,  his  sentences,  —  all,  even  then,  so  exquisite 
in  their  expression  of  genius  and  scholarly  accomplishments. 
I  have  always  felt  my  connection  with  that  class  as  a  peculiar 
felicity  of  my  college  life  ;  and  to  us  all  Choate's  companion- 
ship through  the  four  years  was  a  blessing  and  an  honor," 

What  was  thus  begun,  he  carried  through  to  the  end.  As 
early  as  his  Sophomore  year  he  entered  upon  a  course  of 
thorough,  systematic  study,  not  with  the  object  of  excelling 
his  classmates,  but  to  satisfy  the  ideal  of  excellence  which 
filled  his  own  mind.  He  never,  while  in  college,  mingled  very 
freely  in  the  sports  of  the  play-ground,  and  yet  was  never  a 
recluse.  His  door  was  always  open  to  any  one  who  called  to 
see  him.  But  his  example  did  much  to  set  the  standard  of 
scholarship,  and  to  impart  a  noble  and  generous  spirit  to  the 
class  and  the  college. 

The  years  that  Mr.  Choate  spent  at  Dartmouth  were 
among  the  most  critical  in  the  history  of  that  institution.  A 
difficulty  of  many  years'  standing,  between  President  John 
Wheelock  and  the  Board  of  Trustees,  culminated  in  1815 
in  his  deposition  from  office,  and  the  election  of  another 
President  in  his  place.  The  question  soon  became  involved 
in  the  politics  of  the  State,  and  the  legislature,  in  June, 
1816,  passed  an  act  incorporating  an  adverse  institution, 
called  the  Dartmouth  University,  and  granting  to  it  the  seal, 
the  libraries,  the  buildings,  and  the  revenues  of  the  college. 
New  officers  were  appointed,  and  a  small  number  of  students 
collected.  The  trustees  denied  the  constitutional  power  of  the 
legislature  to  pass  such  an  act,  and  carried  the  case  before  the 
legal  tribunals.  In  November,  1817,  the  Supreme  Court  of 
the  State   decided   against   them.     The   college   was   without 


10  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  L 

buildings,  without  libraries,  without  apparatus,  without  re- 
sources. The  recitations  were  held  wherever  rooms  could  be 
found  in  the  village.  A  President,  two  Professors,  and  one 
or  two  Tutors,  performed  the  whole  duty  of  instruction  and 
government.  The  public  mind  was  profoundly  agitated  with 
hopes  and  fears,  in  which  the  students  largely  shared.  From 
the  decision  of  the  State  Court,  an  appeal  was  taken  to  the 
Supreme  Court  at  Washington.  A  question  of  local  inter- 
est spread  itself  to  dimensions  of  national  importance.  Jere- 
miah Mason,  Jeremiah  Smith,  Daniel  Webster,  and  Francis 
Hopkinson  were  counsel  for  the  College.  John  Holmes  and 
William  Wirt,  for  the  University.  Tire  minds  of  the  students 
were  stimulated  by  the  unusual  circumstances,  and  probably 
there  never  was  a  time  in  the  history  of  the  college,  when  a 
spirit  of  study,  of  order,  and  of  fidelity  to  every  duty,  more 
thoroughly  pervaded  the  whole  body,  than  when  there  were 
hardly  any  means  of  enforcing  obedience,  and  the  very  exist- 
ence of  the  institution  depended  upon  the  doubtful  decision  of 
a  legal  question.  The  contest  itself  imparted  a  sense  of  real- 
ity and  practicalness  to  the  college  life,  and  a  desire  of  high 
attainment  and  honorable  action  seemed  to  be  the  pervading 
spirit  of  the  community  of  students.  It  was  during  this  pe- 
riod that  Mr.  Choate's  mind  was,  by  several  circumstances, 
decisively  turned  to  the  law  as  a  profession.  He  probably 
heard  Judge  Smith,  Mr.  Mason,  and  Mr.  Webster  in  their 
defence  of  the  college  at  Exeter  in  September,  I8I7.  "He 
certainly  heard  Webster  in  the  celebrated  trial  of  the  Kennis- 
tons  at  Ipswich,  in  the  autumn  of  the  same  year."  In  the 
college,  there  existed  at  this  time  two  rival  literary  societies, 
The  Social  Friends  and  The  United  Fraternity,  each  possess- 
ing a  small  but  valuable  library.  On  the  plea  of  preserving 
these  libraries,  some  of  the  officers  of  the  University  deter- 
mined to  remove  them  from  the  college  building.  Not  having 
the  keys,  the  door  of  The  Social  Friends  was  broken  in  by  a 
number  of  persons,  headed  and  directed  by  an  officer  of  the 
University,  and  preparations  made  for  carrying  away  the  books. 
Tiiey  had  hardly  entered  before  the  students  of  both  societies, 
exasperated  at  the  unexpected  attack,  rallied  for  a  defence  of 
their  property.  The  band  wiiich  had  entered  the  room  was  at 
once  inqjrisoned  in  it,  and  finally  disarmed  and  conducted  to 


1799-1830.]  COLLEGE    LIFE.  ]  1 

their  several  homes.  Mr.  Choate  was  then  lihrarian  of  the 
society  whose  property  was  invaded,  and  as  a  result  of  the 
proceedings  in  which  he  bore  some  share,  found  himself  with 
several  fellow-students,  summoned  the  next  day  before  a  pliant 
justice  of  the  peace,  who  bound  them  all  over  to  take  their 
trial  before  a  superior  court  on  the  charge  of  riot.  Their 
accusers  were  also  arraigned  before  another  justice,  and  bound 
over  to  answer  to  the  same  tribunal.  To  the  court  they 
went  at  Haverhill.  The  most  eminent  lawyers  in  the  State 
then  practised  in  Grafton  County.  The  case  never  came  to  a 
hearing,  the  Grand  Jury  finding  no  bill  against  the  parties, 
but  the  appearance  of  the  court,  —  Chief  Justice  Richardson, 
Judge  Bell,  and  Judge  Woodbury  upon  the  bench,  —  and  the 
eminent  legal  ability  of  the  bar,  where  were  such  lawyers  as 
George  Sullivan,  Jeremiah  Mason,  Jeremiah  Smith,  Kichard 
Fletcher,  Ichabod  Bartlett,  Ezekiel  Webster,  and  Joseph  Bell, 
might  be  presumed  to  impress  a  mind  much  less  susceptible  of 
such  influences  than  was  Mr.  Choate's. 

In  the  mean  time,  Mr.  Webster  made  his  great  argument 
for  the  college,  on  the  10th  of  March,  1818.  All  these  cir- 
cumstances, and  perhaps  especially  the  laurels  won  by  Mr. 
Webster  in  that  effort,  directed  the  young  student's  attention  to 
the  advantages,  the  attractions,  and  the  grandeur  of  that  profes- 
sion in  which  he  was  destined  to  attain  such  eminence.  "  The 
victory  of  Miltiades  would  not  suffer  him  to  sleep."  "  The 
Dartmouth  College  case,"  says  a  distinguished  statesman,-^ 
"was  almost  the  first  legal  controversy  which  brought  into 
view  the  relations  of  the  judiciary  and  the  bar  to  the  great 
interests  of  American  learning.  The  questions  involved  in  it 
were  generally  thought  vitally  important  to  the  cause  of  edu- 
cation in  its  highest  and  most  liberal  aspects,  and  the  discus- 
sion of  them  established  a  harmony  and  excited  a  sympathy 
between  two  vocations  before  thought  almost  antagonistic, 
—  the  academic  and  the  forensic,  —  which  was  not  without 
favorable  results  to  both  of  them." 

While  Mr.  Choate  was  a  member  of  college,  there  were 
in  the  classes  a  larger  number  of  students  than  usual  distin- 
guished for  breadth  and  thoroughness  of  scholarship,  as  they 
have  been  since  for  honorable  positions  in  literature  and  in 
1  Hon.  George  P.  Marsh. 


12  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Cuap.  I. 

society.  With  some  of  these  he  formed  friendships  which 
terminated  only  with  their  Hves.  By  all  who  knew  him  then 
he  was  ever  remembered  for  his  warm  and  generous  sensibilities, 
his  open,  balmy  kindness,  as  well  as  for  his  influence  over  the 
younger  students,  and  his  readiness  to  help  them.  After  having 
decided  upon  his  profession,  his  desire  was  to  become  a  national 
man.  The  Country,  the  Union  of  the  States,  the  Fathers  of 
the  Republic,  —  these  words  were  frequently  in  his  mouth. 
General  literature,  which  before  had  been  an  end  with  him, 
now  became  but  the  means  for  the  accomplishment  of  the 
purpose  to  which  he  had  consecrated  his  life.  All  pursuits, 
whether  of  elegant  learning  or  of  graver  non-professional 
knowledge,  were  made  but  adjuncts  and  auxiliaries.  Nor  was 
it  in  scholarship  more  than  in  the  power  of  using  his  acquisi- 
tions that  he  excelled.  In  the  classics,  in  history,  and  general 
literature,  he  read  far  beyond  the  requirements  of  the  curricu- 
lum, but  knowledge  never  outran  the  power  of  thought.  His 
intellectual  growth  was  sound  and  healthful.  Chief  Justice 
Perley  says  of  him  (in  his  eulogy),  with  reference  to  this  and 
some  kindred  points  :  — 

"  It  was  not  merely  in  scholarship,  in  knowledge  of  books, 
and  literary  attainments  that  he  then  stood  high  above  all 
competition  and  rivalry.  He  was  even  then  far  less  distin- 
guished for  the  amount  of  his  acquisitions,  than  for  vigor 
and  grasp  of  mind,  for  the  discipline  and  training  which  gave 
him  complete  command  of  himself  and  all  that  he  knew.  He 
was  already  remarkable  for  the  same  brilliant  qualities  which 
distinguished  him  in  his  subsequent  career.  To  those  who 
knew  him  then,  and  watched  his  onward  course,  little  change 
was  observable  in  his  style  of  writing,  or  in  his  manner  of 
speaking,  except  such  as  would  naturally  be  required  by 
subjects  of  a  wider  range  and  more  exciting  occasions.  His 
judgment  seemed  already  manly  and  mature.  He  compre- 
hended his  subject  then,  as  he  did  afterwards,  in  all  its  bear- 
ings and  relations ;  looked  all  through  it  with  the  same  deep 
and  searching  glance,  had  the  same  richness  and  fulness  of 
style,  and  the  same  felicitous  command  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  expressive  language,  the  same  contagious  fervor  of 
manner,  and  the  same  strange  fascination  of  eye  and  voice, 
which  on  a   wider  stage   made   him  in  later  life  one  of  the 


1799-1830.]  COLLEGE   LIFE.  jg 

most  powerful  and  persuasive  orators  which  our  country  lias 
produced. 

"  I  entered  college  at  the  commencement  of  his  senior  year, 
and  can  myself  bear  witness  to  the  supremacy  which  he  then 
held  here,  in  the  unanimous  judgment  of  his  fellow-students. 
No  other  man  was  ever  mentioned  in  comparison  with  him. 
His  public  college  exercises  were  of  a  very  uncommon  char- 
acter. Unless  I  was  greatly  misled  by  a  boyish  judgment 
at  the  time,  or  am  strangely  deceived  by  looking  at  them 
through  the  recollections  of  forty  years,  no  college  exercises 
of  an  undergraduate  that  I  have  ever  heard  are  at  all  worthy 
to  be  compared  with  them,  for  beauty  of  style,  for  extent 
and  variety  of  illustration,  for  breadth  and  scope,  and  for 
manly  comprehension  of  the  subject.  At  this  distance  of 
time,  I  well  remember  every  ])ublic  exercise  performed  by 
him  while  I  was  a  member.  I  have  heard  him  often  since, 
and  on  some  of  the  occasions  when  he  is  understood  to  have 
made  the  most  successful  displays  of  his  eloquence  ;  I  heard 
him  when  he  stood  upon  this  spot  to  pronounce  his  eulogy 
on  Webster,  which  has  been  considered,  on  authority  from 
which,  on  such  a  question,  there  lies  no  appeal,  to  be  un- 
equalled among  the  performances  of  its  class  in  this  country, 
and  I  can  sincerely  say  that  nothing  I  have  ever  heard  from 
him  in  the  maturity  and  full  growth  of  his  powers,  has  pro- 
duced upon  me  a  deeper  impression,  or  filled  me  at  the  time 
with  a  more  absorbing  and  rapt  sensation  of  delight,  than 
those  college  exercises. 

'•His  Honor,  Mr.  Justice  Nesmith,  in  his  remarks  made 
here  at  the  last  Commencement,  spoke  of  Mr.  Choate's  ad- 
dress as  President  of  the  Social  Friends,  to  certain  Fresh- 
men who  were  admitted  to  the  Society  in  the  first  term  of 
the  year  1818.  I  was  one  of  those  Freshmen,  and  shall 
never  forget  the  effect  produced  by  that  address.  I  remem- 
ber, too,  what  Mr.  Nesmith  is  more  likely  to  have  forgotten, 
that  on  the  same  evening  there  was  a  high  discussion  in  the 
society  between  two  members  of  Mr.  Choate's  class,  on  a 
very  large  question,  not  then  entirely  new,  nor  yet,  that  I 
have  heard,  finally  decided,  '  whether  ancient  or  modern  po- 
etry had  the  superiority.'  Mr.  Choate  was  required,  as  Pres- 
ident, by  the  rules  of  the  society,  to  give  his  decision  upon 

VOL.    I.  2 


14  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  I. 

tlie  question.  As  might  be  expected  from  the  general  bias 
of  his  mind,  he  took  strong  ground  for  the  ancients,  and 
I  well  remember,  at  this  distance  of  time,  the  general  course 
of  his  remarks  upon  the  subject.' 

But  though  the  position  of  Mr.  Choate  among  his  class- 
mates was  early  determined,  and  never  for  one  moment  after- 
wards in  doubt,  no  student  ever  bore  his  academic  honors 
with  greater  modesty,  or  was  regarded  by  his  classmates  with 
a  more  sincere  affection.  Envy  was  swallowed  up  in  admira- 
tion. The  influence  of  so  distinguished  a  scholar  was  not 
confined  to  his  own  class  but  was  diffused  throughout  col- 
\es;e.  In  all  matters  of  literature  he  was  the  oracle  from 
which  there  was  no  appeal.  With  sensibilities  warm  and 
generous,  never  showing  an  unkind  emotion,  or  doing  a  dis- 
honorable act,  it  is  not  surprising  that  his  influence  should 
have  been  great,  or  that  his  memory  should  be  affectionately 
cherished  by  many  who  have  hardly  seen  him  for  forty  years. 
"  Meeting  him  one  day  about  the  last  of  November,"  writes 
one  who  was  in  college  with  him,^  "•  something  was  said  about 
the  manner  of  spending  the  winter  vacation,  and  I  frankly 
told  him  that  the  want  of  funds  required  me  to  teach  a  school 
the  next  quarter.  In  reply  he  said,  '  You  had  better  hire 
money  and  pay  ten  per  cent,  interest,  and  remain  here  and 
study  and  read,  than  to  lose  any  part  of  your  college  life.' 
....  Beins:  the  word  of  a  Senior  to  a  Freshman  who  had 
no  personal  claims  to  his  friendly  regards,  —  and  of  a  senior 
who  stood  head  and  shoulders  above  his  coevals, — it  made  a 
deep  impression  on  my  mind.  It  was  a  word  not  to  be  for- 
gotten." 

Mr.  Choate  closed  his  college  course  in  1819,  with  the 
valedictory.  The  six  weeks'  senior  vacation,  which  then  pre- 
ceded Commencement,  he  had  passed  upon  a  sick  bed,  from 
which  he  returned  with  hardly  strength  to  perform  his  part. 
He  was  pale,  feeble,  and  could  only  deliver  the  strictly  val- 
edictory address.  But  the  effect  is  said  to  have  been  unex- 
ampled. Not  only  his  classmates,  but  half  the  audience,  and 
not  a  few  among  the  grave  trustees,  used  to  such  occasions, 
were  dissolved  in  tears. 

The  next  year  Mr.  Choate  spent  in  the  then  responsible 
1  Rev.  A.  Converse,  D.  D. 


1799-1830.]  STUDIES   WITH  MR.   WIRT.  15 

office  of  tutor  in  the  college,  —  a  year  to  him,  and  almost 
equally  to  his  pupils,  all  sunshine, —  and  then  entered  upon 
the  study  of  his  profession  in  the  Law-school  at  Cambridge, 
presided  over,  at  that  time,  by  Chief  Justice  Parker,  and 
Asahel  Stearns.  From  them  he  gained  his  first  insight 
into  the  methods,  objects,  and  morality  of  the  law.  Still 
yearning,  however,  for  a  wider  view  of  affairs,  and  influ- 
enced perhaps  by  the  fact  that  his  brother-in-law.  Dr.  Sew- 
all,  had  removed  to  Washington,  he  entered,  in  18i21,  the 
office  of  Mr.  Wirt,  then  Attorney-General  of  the  United 
States,  and  in  the  ripeness  of  his  powers  and  fame.  The 
year  at  Washington,  although  he  did  not  see  so  much  as 
he  wished  of  Mr.  Wirt,  who  was  confined  for  a  considera- 
ble portion  of  the  time  by  indisposition,  was  not  without 
considerable  advantage.  It  enlarged  his  knowledge  of  pub- 
lic men  and  of  affairs.  He  became  familiar  with  the  public 
administration.  He  spent  some  hours  almost  daily  in  the 
library  of  Congress.  He  began  to  comprehend  still  more 
fully  the  dignity  of  his  chosen  profession.  He  saw  Mar- 
shall upon  the  bench,  and  heard  Pinkney  in  the  Senate,  and 
in  his  last  speech  in  court,  and  thenceforth  became  more 
than  ever  an  admirer  of  the  genius  of  those  eminent  men. 
Pinkney,  he  thought  the  most  consummate  master  of  a  manly 
and  exuberant  spoken  English  that  he  ever  heard,  and  he 
always  kept  him  in  view  as  a  sort  of   model  advocate. 

Among  the  college  friends  of  Mr,  Choate,  to  whom  he  was 
strongly  attached,  was  James  Marsh,  whose  early  attainments 
and  wide  culture  gave  promise  of  his  future  eminence,  and 
who  already  had  pushed  his  studies  into  the  then  almost  un- 
known regions  of  German  metaphysics.  To  him  Mr.  Choate 
writes  from  Washington  :  — 

To  Mr.  James  Marsh,  Theological  Seminary,  Andover,  Mass. 

"Aug.  11,  1821, 

"  I  take  great  shame  to  myself  for  neglecting  so  long  to  answer  your 
letter,  and  beg  you  will  explain  it  anyhow  but  on  the  supposition  that  I 
have  meant  to  requite  your  own  remissness  in  kind.  My  remissness,  you 
might  know,  if  you  would  think  a  moment,  is  never  so  intentional  a  mat- 
ter as  that  comes  to  ;  '  idleness  and  irresolution,'  will  account  for  it  always  ; 
and  since  you,  whose  fine  habits  are  the  envy  of  all  your  literary  friends, 
set  the  example,  •' idleness  and  irresolution,'  I  shall  plead  without  eva- 


IQ  MEMOIR   OF    RUFUS    CHOATE.  [Chap.  I. 

sion  and  without  remorse  now  and  henceforward  forever.  But  I  wonder 
if  I  shall  act  quite  as  wisely  in  pleading,  too,  other  matters  of  apology  ? 
in  telling  you  for  instance,  that  your  letter  and  my  own  reflections,  since 
I  read  it,  have  assured  me  of  what  I  was  suspicious  of  before,  though  I 
never  owned  it  to  myself,  and  pretended  not  to  believe  it,  that  I  can 
really  walk  no  longer  'within  that  magic  circle'  where  we  used  to  disport 
ourselves This  I  own  I  am  ashamed  of,  but  that  ocean  of  Ger- 
man theology  and  metaphysics,  (not  to  say  criticism),  —  ah  Marsh,  you 
may  swim  on  alone  in  that  if  you  will,  and  much  good  may  it  do  you  !  I 
never  could  swim  in  it  myself  at  any  rate,  (it  was  like  being  a  yard  be- 
hind a  cuttle-fish,)  and  have  long  since  made  up  my  mind  that  any  smaller 
fry  than  a  leviathan  stand  no  sort  of  chance  in  its  disturbed,  muddy,  un 
fathomable  waters.  On  the  whole,  however,  this  is  no  reason  at  all 
why  we  should  cease  to  be  very  warm  friends,  and  in  our  way,  very 
punctual  correspondents,  and  so  let  me  thank  you  at  last  heartily,  for 
writing  such  a  full  and  interesting  letter,  and  beg  you  to  repeat  your 
kindness  very  frequently  till  we  shake  hands  again  in  your  own  cell  at 
Andover,  or  in  some  one  of  the  gay  halls  of  our  endeared  Hanover. 
Our  correspondence  Avill  certainly  answer  one  end,  and  that  I  hope  we 
both  think,  no  inconsiderable  one,  —  it  will  bring  us  often  into  each  other's 
thoughts  and  presence,  and  keep  green  in  our  memories  the  days,  well 
spent  and  happy  and  dear  to  us  both,  of  our  literary  intimacy.  We  go 
on  together  no  longer ;  our  paths  are  widely  asunder  already,  to  diverge 
still  more  at  every  step.  But  for  this  very  reason  let  us  carefully  cherish 
a  kindly  remembrance  of  each  other,  and  of  the  time  when  our  studies, 
tastes,  and  objects  of  ambition  were  one  ;  and  the  same  intense  first  love 
of  a  new  and  fascinating  department  of  literature  burned  in  both  our 
bosoms.  I  darkly  gather  from  what  you  tell  me,  that  you  are  plunging 
still  more  and  more  deeply  into  that  incomprehensible  science  in  which 
you  are  to  live  and  to  be  rememhered,  and  are  contriving  every  day  to 
detect  in  it  some  before-unsuspected  relation  to  those  other  branches  of 
learning  with  which  a  less  acute,  or  less  enthusiastic  eye,  would  never 

see  it  to   have   the   loosest  connection I  am  sadly  at  a  loss  for 

books  here,  but  I  sit  three  days  every  week  in  the  large  Congressional 
library,  and  am  studying  our  own  extensive  ante-revolutionary  history, 
and  reading  your  favorite  Gibbon.  The  only  classic  I  can  get  is  Ovid  ; 
and  while  I  am  about  it,  let  me  say,  too,  that  I  read  every  day  some 
chapters  in  an  English  Bible.  I  miss  extremely  the  rich  opportunities 
we  enjoyed  formerly,  and  which  you  still  enjoy,  but  I  hope  I  shall  at  last 
begin  to  think.  Most  truly  yours, 

"  R.  Choate." 

From  his  residence  at  the  capital  and  the  abundant  advan- 
tages which  it  offered  to  a  mind  so  observant  as  his,  he  was 
suddenly  called  away  before  fully  completing  his  first  year,  by  an 
event  which  affected  him  with  the  deepest  sorrow.  His  brother 
Washington,  his  early  playmate  and  fellow-student,  younger 
than  himself  by  nearly  four  years,  entered  Dartmouth  College 
the  year  that  Rufus  graduated.     Unlike  his  older  brother  in 


1799-1830.]  DEATH   OF   HIS  BROTHER.  IJ 

personal  appearance,  he  resembled  him  in  uuiny  intellectual 
and  moral  qualities,  and  gave  promise  of  equal  distinction. 
He  was  a  tall  and  slender  young  man,  of  a  fair  complexion, 
with  light  hair  and  light  blue  eyes.  Entering  college  with  a 
comparatively  thorough  preparation,  he  at  once  became  by  uni- 
versal and  cheerful  acknowledgment,  the  leader  of  his  class, 
and  yet  he  was  the  most  gentle,  modest,  and  unobtrusive  of 
them  all.  The  few  papers  which  he  left  behind  him,  to  which 
I  have  had  access,  indicate  unusual  scholarship  and  a  remarka- 
ble extent  of  attainment  in  languages  and  modern  literature. 
They  show  also  uncommonly  pure  and  deep  religious  sensibili- 
ties. Kind,  companionable  and  true,  loving  and  beloved,  he  had 
already  consecrated  his  life  to  a  service  in  which  none  could 
have  fairer  hopes  of  eminence  and  usefulness,  but  upon  which 
he  was  not  permitted  to  enter.  Having  taught  school  near 
home  during  the  winter  of  his  junior  year,  he  was  attacked  by 
the  scarlet  fever  on  the  very  day  of  his  proposed  return  to 
college,  and  after  a  brief  illness,  died  February  ^7,  ISS'^,  at 
the  age  of  nineteen.  During  his  sickness  his  thoughts  turned 
with  unwavering  and  intense  afi'ection  towards  his  absent 
brother.  He  began  to  dictate  a  letter  to  him  on  the  morning 
of  the  day  on  which  he  died.  "  There  is  one  subject,  Rufus," 
he  said,  "  upon  which  we  must  not  be  dumb  so  that  we  speak 
not,  nor  deaf  so  that  we   hear   not,  nor   blind  so  that  we  may 

not  see.      It  is  not  a  subject  upon  which  " The  sentence 

was  never  completed.  Not  the  letter,  but  the  news  of  his  death, 
was  borne  to  Washins^ton,  and  it  proved  almost  too  much  for 
the  elder  brother  to  endure.  He  sought  out  and  re-read  the 
old  books  which  they  had  studied  together,  while  the  flood- 
gates of  grief  were  opened,  and  he  refused  to  be  comforted. 
His  studies  at  Washington  were  abandoned,  and  he  returned 
for  a  while  to  the  seclusion  of  Essex.  Some  time  afterwards 
he  received  the  following  testimonial  from  Mr.  Wirt,  —  the 
italics  being  his  :  — 

"  Washington,  November  2,  1822. 

"  Mr.  Rufus  Choate  read  law  in  my  oftice  and  under  my 
direction  for  about  twelve  months.  Jle  evinced  great  poiver 
of  application^  and  displayed  a  force  and  discrimination  of 
mind  from  tvhich  I  formed  the  most  favorable  presages  of  his 
future  distinction  in  his  profession.     His  deportment  was  in 

2* 


18  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  I. 

all  respects  so  correct  as  to  entitle  him  to  respect,  and  he  car- 
ried with  him  my  hest  wishes  for  his  professional  eminence, 
prosperity,  and  happiness.  Wm.  Wirt." 

After  remaining  for  a  time  at  home,  he  entered  his  name  in 
the  office  of  Mr.  Asa  Andrews  of  Ipswich,  and  suhseqnently 
continued  his  studies  with  Judge  Cummins,  a  distinguished 
lawyer  of  Salem.  He  was  finally  admitted  an  Attorney  of 
the  Court  of  Common  Pleas,  in  September,  1823,  and  two 
years  later  was  enrolled  as  Attorney  of  the  Supreme  Court. 

It  has  been  generally  stated  that  Mr.  Choate  first  opened 
his  office  in  South  Danvers,  —  and  this  is  substantially  true. 
But  in  fact,  he  first  put  up  his  sign  in  Salem.  It  remained 
up,  however,  but  one  night,  when  his  natural  modesty,  or 
self-distrust,  led  him  to  remove  it  to  Danvers,  a  little  far- 
ther from  the  courts  and  from  direct  rivalry  with  the  emi- 
nent lawyers  who  engrossed  the  business  and  controlled  the 
opinions  of  that  distinguished  bar. 

The  four  or  five  years  that  he  spent  in  Danvers  were  the 
years  of  solicitude  and  hope  which  can  never  come  twice  to  a 
professional  man,  and  which  endear  to  him  the  place  where  his 
first  successes  are  achieved,  and  the  men  from  whom  he  re- 
ceives his  first  encouragement.  He  regarded  no  other  place 
with  exactly  the  feelings  which  he  entertained  for  Danvers ; 
and  the  kindness  seemed  to  be  fully  reciprocated.  During  his 
short  residence  there  he  twice  represented  the  town  in  the 
Legislature,  and  for  one  year  was  a  member  of  the  Senate. 

Not  long  after  opening  his  office,  and  perhaps  when  under 
some  feeling  of  discouragement,  he  thus  closes  a  letter  to  his 
friend  Mr.  Marsh,  then  tutor  in  Hampden  Sydney  College, 
Virginia. 

"  There  is  a  new  novel  by  the  author  of  '  Valerius,'  that 
a  friend  of  mine  here  says  is  very  clever,  but  I  haven't  got 
it  yet.  He  seems,  from  that  specimen,  at  any  rate,  to  be  a 
man  of  elegant  and  thorough  studies,  and,  without  any  such 
fertility  and  versatility  as  that  other ^  —  our  Shakspeare,  — 
might  hit  out  a  single  performance  of  pretty  formidable  pre- 
tensions to  equality  in  some  great  features.  How  wretchedly 
adapted  is  our  American  liberal  education  and  our  subsequent 
course  of  life,  to  form  and  mature  a  mind  of  so  much  depth, 


1799-1830.]  HIS   MARRIAGE.  10 

taste,  and  beautiful  enlargement.  How  vulgar  and  untaught 
we  generally  are  with  all  our  unquestionable  natural  capac- 
ity  I  don't  remember  to  have  ever  looked  upon  the 

coming  in  of  the  first  month  of  winter,  with  a  more  prostrat- 
ing sense  of  miser ahleness^  than  presses  upon  me  every  mo- 
ment that  I  am  not  hard  at  study.  Cold  is  itself  an  intoler- 
able evil,  and  it  comes  with  such  a  dreary  accompaniment  of 
whistling  wind  and  falling  leaf,  that  '  I  would  not  live  alway ' 
if  these  were  the  terms  on  which  we  were  to  hold  out.  I 
really  think  that  the  time  of  life,  when  the  nakedness  and 
desolation  of  a  fast  darkening  November  could  be  softened 
and  relieved  by  blending  in  it  fancy,  romance,  association,  and 
hope,  is  gone  by  with  me,  and  I  actually  tremble  to  see  lift- 
ing up  from  one  season  of  the  year  after  another,  from  one 
character  after  another,  and  from  life  itself,  even  a  life  of 
study,  ambition,  and  social  intercourse,  that  fair  woven  cover, 
which  is  spread  upon  so  much  blackness,  hollowness,  and 
commonplace.  But  towards  you  my  feelings  change  not,  and 
so  of  about  five  more  persons  only  whom  I  have  ever  known. 
—  Begging  you  to  excuse  everything  amiss. 

"  Danwers,  iVby.  23,  1823."  Yours,    R.    C." 

Mr.  Choate's  immediate  success,  although  as  great  as  could 
be  anticipated,  was  not  particularly  striking,  and  during  the 
first  two  or  three  years,  in  some  seasons  of  despondency,  he 
seriously  debated  whether  he  should  not  throw  up  his  profes- 
sion, and  seek  some  other  method  of  support.  In  the  mean 
time,  in  1825,  he  was  united  in  marriage  with  Helen  Olcott, 
daughter  of  Mills  Olcott,  Esq.,  of  Hanover,  N.  H.  Few  men 
have  been  more  widely  known  in  New  Hampshire,  or  more 
deeply  respected  than  Mr.  Olcott.  He  was  a  person  of  re- 
markable sagacity,  of  great  wisdom  in  the  conduct  of  affairs, 
magnanimous  and  generous,  eminently  courteous,  dignified 
and  kind,  one  of  the  few  to  whom  the  old-fashioned  name  of 
gentleman  could  be  applied  without  restriction  or  reserve. 
This  congenial  alliance  was  one  of  the  many  felicitous  circum- 
stances of  Mr.  Choate's  early  career.  It  brought  him  sym- 
pathy, encouragement,  and  support.  It  not  only  gave  him  a 
new  stimulus  to  labor,  but  proved  in  all  respects  most  con- 
genial with  his  tastes,  and  favorable  to  his  social  aspirations. 


20  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  I. 

Although  he  did  not  at  first  escape  the  fate  of  most  young 
lawyers,  the  number  of  whose  clients  is  not  always  equal  to 
their  wishes,  yet  his  unwearied  diligence,  his  fidelity,  and  the 
fame  of  his  eloquence  and  skill,  soon  brought  to  him  a  full 
share  of  the  business  of  the  town  and  country.  He  early 
formed  the  habit  of  doing  for  his  client  everything  that  the 
case  required  irrespective  of  reward.  Before  a  justice  of  the 
peace,  in  an  office  not  larger  than  a  shoemaker's  shop,  in  de- 
fence of  some  petty  offender,  he  poured  forth  the  same  wealth 
of  words  and  illustrations,  of  humor  and  wit,  and  in  its  meas- 
ure, of  learning  and  argument,  which  afterwards  delighted  the 
Supreme  Court  and  the  Senate.  Indeed,  throughout  his  life, 
he  never  reserved  his  brilliant  arguments  for  a  suitable  audi- 
ence. He  early  made  it  a  rule,  for  the  sake  of  increasing  his 
power  as  an  advocate,  to  argue  at  full  length  every  case  he 
tried,  and  to  do  his  best  on  every  occasion.  He  as  resolutely 
determined  to  shrink  from  no  labor  which  might  be  necessary 
to  the  perfect  completion  of  whatever  he  undertook.  In  a 
famous  dog  case  at  Beverly,  it  was  said  that  '  he  treated  the 
dog  as  though  he  were  a  lion  or  an  elephant,  and  the  crab- 
bed old  squire  with  the  compliment  and  consideration  of  a 
chief  justice  !  ' 

On  one  very  stormy  night  during  his  residence  in  Danvers, 
he  was  called  upon  at  a  late  hour,  to  draw  up  the  will  of  a 
dying  man  who  lived  several  miles  distant.  He  went,  per- 
formed the  service  and  returned  home.  But  after  going  to 
bed,  as  he  lay  revolving  in  his  mind  each  provision  of  the 
paper  lie  had  so  rapidly  prepared,  there  flashed  across  his  mem- 
ory an  omission  that  might  possibly  cause  the  testator's  inten- 
tion to  be  misunderstood.  He  sprang  from  his  bed  and  began 
dressing  himself  rapidly,  to  the  great  surprise  of  his  wife,  only 
answering  her  inquiries  by  saying  that  he  had  done  what  must 
be  undone,  and  in  the  thick  of  the  storm,  rode  again  to  his  dy- 
ing client,  explained  the  reason  of  his  return,  and  drew  a  cod- 
icil to  the  will  which  made  everything  sure.  He  related  this 
in  after-life  in  illustration  of  a  remark,  that  sometimes,  years 
after  a  case  had  been  tried,  he  would  feel  a  pang  of  reproach 
that  he  had  not  urged  some  argument  which  at  that  moment 
flashed  across  his  mind.  He  always  fought  his  lost  cases  over 
again,  to  see  if  he  could  find  any  argument  whereby  he  might 


1799-1830]  OPINION    OF  JUDGE    SHAW.  21 

have  gained  them.  Nor  did  he  at  this  time  neglect  his 
purely  literary  studies.  A  literary  society,  already  existing 
in  the  town,  found  in  him  an  active  and  valuable  member. 
The  lecture  on  "  The  Waverley  Novels,"  was  then  prepared. 
He  also  delivered  two  ^th  of  July  orations,  one  before  the 
Danvers  Light  Infantry,  of  which  corps  he  became  a  member, 
and  one  before  the  citizens  at  large. 

In  the  mean  time  his  professional  fame  was  spreading.  His 
unique  and  vigorous  eloquence,  his  assiduity,  care,  and  fidel- 
ity to  his  clients,  adorned  with  a  modesty  as  singular  as  it 
was  beautiful,  gained  him  many  friends  and  more  admirers. 

An  extract  from  a  letter  of  Chief  Justice  Shaw,  will  show 
how  his  reputation  gradually  increased  at  the  bar  :  —  "I  had 
an  opportunity  to  see  Mr.  Choate,  and  witness  his  powers  as 
an  advocate  very  early,  when  he  first  opened  an  office  in  Dan- 
vers, and  when  t  had  scarcely  heard  his  name  mentioned.  It 
happened,  that  in  consequence  of  one  or  more  large  failures 
in  Danvers,  a  number  of  litigated  suits  were  commenced  be- 
tween various  parties,  all  of  which,  —  to  avoid  delay  and 
obtain  a  more  early  decision  I  suppose,  —  were  referred  to 
the  late  Hon.  Samuel  Hoar  of  Concord,  and  myself,  as  arbi- 
trators. We  attended  at  the  court-house  in  Salem  and  heard 
them,  I  think,  in  June,  1826.  Mr.  Choate  appeared  as  coun- 
sel in  several  of  them.  As  he  was  previously  unknown  to  us 
by  reputation,  and  regardhig  him  as  we  did,  as  a  young  law- 
yer just  commencing  practice  in  a  country  town,  we  were 
much  and  very  agreeably  surprised  at  the  display  of  his  pow- 
ers. It  appeared  to  me  that  he  then  manifested  much  of  that 
keen,  legal  discrimination,  of  the  acuteness,  skill,  and  compre- 
hensive view  of  the  requirements  of  his  case,  in  the  examina- 
tion of  witnesses,  and  that  clearness  and  force  in  presenting 
questions  both  of  fact  and  law,  by  which  he  was  so  much  dis- 
tinguished in  his  subsequent  brilliant  professional  career.  He 
soon  after  this  removed  to  Salem,  and  in  a  short  time  became 
extensively  and  favorably  known,  as  a  jurist  and  advocate." 

Salem  and  Danvers  were  then,  as  now,  closely  connected. 
The  first  case  in  which  he  professionally  appeared  in  the  for- 
mer city,  was  in  defence  of  a  number  of  young  men  of  re- 
spectable families,  charged  with  riotous  proceedings  at  a  low 
dance-house.     I  cannot  do  so  well  as  to  take  the  account  fur- 


20,  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS    CHOATE.  [Chap.  I. 

nished  to  the  "  Salem  Register  "  by  one  of  the  distinguished 
members  of  the  Essex  bar.^  "  The  case  excited  much  in- 
terest from  the  character  and  position  of  some  of  the  parties 
impHcated,  and  especially  from  the  fame,  even  then,  of  the 
young  advocate.     He  had  before  that  time,  I  believe,  appeared 

before  some  of  the  magistrates  of  Danvers Under 

these  circumstances  it  is  not  strange  that  when  the  '  Mumford 
Case,'  as  it  was  called,  came  up  in  Salem,  —  a  somewhat  larger 
and  broader  theatre,  —  a  more  diversified  audience,  —  ship- 
masters, old  salts,  supercargoes,  clerks,  merchants,  and  the 
various  men  of  the  various  callings  of  the  chief  town  of  the 
county,  —  an  interest  and  a  feeling  altogether  unusual  should 
have  been  excited  on  the  occasion.  It  was  so.  The  place 
where  Justice  Savage  held  his  court,  was  a  large  room  on 
the  second  floor  of  a  substantial  building,  in  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal streets,  and  it  was  immediately  densely  packed  with  all 
the  varieties  of  the  population.  The  trial  commenced  and 
proceeded ;  witness  after  witness  was  called,  and  all  subjected 
to  the  severest  and  most  rigid  cross-examination  by  the  young 
counsel.  Now  and  then  a  passage  at  arms  with  the  counsel 
for  the  government,  (a  gentleman  of  very  considerable  expe- 
rience in  criminal  courts,  and  of  some  fifteen  or  twenty 
years'  standing  at  the  bar,)  would  come  up  to  give  variety  to 
the  scene  ;  and  now  and  then,  a  gentle,  most  gracious  and 
reverential  rencontre  with  the  honorable  court  would  inter- 
vene, and  again  a  hard  contest  with  some  perverse  and  ob- 
stinate witness,  would  relieve  the  tedium  of  the  protracted 
examination.  Some  of  the  immediate  auditors  would  get 
overheated,  and  then  work  themselves  out  into  the  fresh  air, 
and  report  the  proceedings,  —  the  sayings  and  doings  of  the 
young  lawyer,  —  what  he  said  to  his  antagonist,  Esq.  T.,  or 
to  the  honorable  court,  or  this  or  that  fugitive  comment  on 
the  witness,  or  case,  as  the  trial  proceeded,  (an  inveterate 
habit  of  Mr.  Choate's,  in  all  his  early  practice,  and  no  court 
or  counsel  were  or  could  be  quick  enough  to  prevent  it,  —  it 
would  breathe  out,  this  or  that  comment,  or  word,  or  sug- 
gestion.) 

"  In   this  way,  and  by  such  means,  the  fame  of  the  case 
extended,  while  the  trial  was  in  progress,  some  two  or   three 
1  Hon.  Asahel  Huntinston. 


1799-1830.]     REMINISCENCES   BY  MR.  HUNTINGTON.  gg 

days,  in  the  office  of  a  police  justice  !  Men  of  the  various 
classes  would  assemble  around  the  court-room,  in  the  entry, 
on  the  stairs,  outside,  to  hear  the  fresh  reports,  and  so  things 
continued  till  the  argument  came,  and  then  there  was  a  rush 
for  every  available  point  and  spot  within  or  without  the 
compass  of  the  speaker's  voice,  and  the  people  literally  hung 
with  delighted  and  most  absorbed  attention  on  his  lips.  It 
was  a  new  revelation  to  this  audience.  They  had  heard  able 
and  eloquent  men  before  in  courts  of  justice  and  elsewhere. 
Essex  had  had  for  years  and  generations  an  able,  learned, 
and  eloquent  bar ;  there  had  been  many  giants  among  us, 
some  of  national  fame  and  standing,  but  no  such  giant  as  this 
had  appeared  before,  —  such  words,  such  epithets,  such  invo- 
lutions, such  close  and  powerful  logic  all  the  while,  —  such 
grace  and  dignity,  such  profusion  and  waste  even  of  every- 
thing beautiful  and  lovely  !  No,  not  waste,  he  never  wasted 
a  word.  How  he  dignified  that  Court,  —  how  he  elevated  its 
high  functions,  with  what  deference  did  he  presume  to  say 
a  word,  under  the  protection,  and,  as  he  hoped,  with  the 
approving  sanction  of  that  high  tribunal  of  justice,  in  behalf 
of  his  unfortunate  (infelicitous,  from  the  circumstances  in 
which  they  were  placed)^  clients  !  I  could  give  no  word  or 
sentence  of  this  speech.  I  did  not  even  hear  it,  but  1  heard 
much  about  it,  and  all  accounts  agreed  in  representing  it  as  an 
extraordinary  and  wholly  matchless  performance.  They  had 
never  heard  the  like  before,  or  anything  even  approaching  it, 
for  manner  and  substance.  It  was  a  new  school  of  rhetoric, 
oratory,  and  logic,  and  of  all  manner  of  diverse  forces,  work- 
ing, however,  steadily  and  irresistibly  in  one  direction  to  ac- 
complish the  speaker's  purpose  and  object.  The  feeling  ex- 
cited by  this  first  speech  of  Mr.  Choate  in  Salem,  was  one  of 
great  admiration  and  delight.  All  felt  lifted  up  by  his  themes. 
....  And  all  were  prepared  to  welcome  him,  when,  a  few 
years  afterwards,  he  took  up  his  abode  here,  after  the  eleva- 
tion of  his  old  friend  and  teacher,  Judge  Cummins,  to  the 
bench  of  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas." 


24f  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  11. 


CHAPTER   11. 


1830-1840. 


Removal  to  Salem  —  The  Essex  Bar  —  Successes  —  Appearance  —  Counsel  in 
the  Knapp  Case  —  Studies  —  Letter  to  President  Marsh  —  Elected  to  Con- 
gress —  Commonplace  Book  —  Letter  to  President  Marsh  —  Enters  Con- 
gress—  Speeches  on  Revolutionary  Pensions,  and  on  the  Tariff — Letter 
to  Dr.  Andrew  Nichols  —  Letters  to  Professor  George  Bush  —  The  Second 
Session  —  Georgia,  and  the  Missionaries  to  the  Indians —  Letter  to  Professor 
Bush  —  Reelected  to  Congress  —  Speech  on  the  Removal  of  the  Deposits  — 
Resigns  his  Seat  —  Removes  to  Boston  —  Lecture  on  the  "  VVaverley  Nov- 
els," and  on  "  The  Romance  of  the  Sea"  —  Death  of  his  Youngest  Cliild. 

In  1828,  Mr.  Choate  removed  to  Salem.  The  Essex  bar 
was  then,  as  it  had  long  been,  distinguished  for  learning  and 
skill.  The  memory  of  Dane  and  Parsons,  and  Story  and 
Putnam,  was  fresh  and  fragrant;  John  Pickering,  Leverett 
Saltonstall,  Eben  Mosely,  David  Cummins,  and  John  Varnum, 
were  still  in  full  practice ;  Caleb  Cushing,  Robert  C.  Rantoul, 
and  others  like  them,  were  making  their  influence  felt  as  young 
men  of  ability  and  ambition.  Mr.  Choate  was  already  known 
for  the  qualities  by  which  he  was  afterwards  distinguished, 
learning,  assiduity,  a  judgment  almost  unerring,  an  ornate  and 
exuberant  style,  and  remarkable  powers  of  advocacy.  With- 
out assumption,  modest,  deferential,  he  yet  rose  at  once  to  a 
high  position  through  the  combined  force  of  eminent  talents 
and  professional  fidelity. 

He  became  the  leading  counsel  in  criminal  practice,  and  it 
was  said  that  during  his  residence  in  Salem  "  no  man  was 
convicted  whom  he  defended."  It  was  however  true  that  he 
was  not  eager  to  assume  a  defence  unless  there  appeared  to 
be  a  good  legal  ground  for  it.  Many  stories  were  current 
of  his  ingenuity  and  success.  One  of  the  most  characteristic 
was  that  told  of  a  man  by  the  name  of  Jefferds,  indicted  for 
stealing  a  flock  of  turkeys.  "  We  had  this  case,"  says  a 
distinguished  member  of  the  bar,  to  whose  reminiscences  I 
am  already  indebted,^  "  at  every  term  of  the  court  for  a 
1  Hon.  Asahel  Huntington. 


1830-1840.]  THE   TURKEY   CASE.  25 

year  or  more,  and  the  inquiry  used  to  be  '  When  are  the  tur- 
keys coming  on '? '  The  proofs  accumulated  on  the  part  of 
the  government  at  each  successive  trial.  The  County  Attor- 
ney, a  man  of  experience  and  ability,  fortified  himself  on  every 
point,  and  piled  proof  upon  proof  at  each  successive  trial,  but 
all  without  success.  The  voice  of  the  charmer  was  too  power- 
ful for  his  proofs,  and  at  each  trial  — three  or  four  in  all,  I 
forget  which  —  there  was  one  dissenting  juror.  The  case  at 
last  became  famous  in  the  county,  and  in  the  vacations  of  the 
court  the  inquiry  was  often  heard,  '  When  is  the  turkey  case 
coming  on  again  ^  '  and  persons  would  come  from  different 
parts  of  the  county  on  purpose  to  hear  that  trial.  Here  the 
theatre  was  still  larger.  It  was  the  county,  the  native  county, 
of  the  already  distinguished  advocate.  I  heard  those  trials. 
One  was  in  old  Ipswich  in  December,  I  think  —  a  leisure 
season  —  within  four  miles  of  the  spot  where  the  orator  was 
born.  They  came  up  from  Essex  —  old  Chebacco  —  the  old 
and  the  young  men  of  the  town.  Representatives,  more  or 
less,  from  the  whole  body  of  the  county,  were  present,  and  the 
court-house  was  crowded  with  delighted  and  astonished  listen- 
ers. I  remember  how  they  all  hung  upon  him,  spellbound 
by  his  eloquence,  and  I  verily  believe  these  by-standers  would 
have  acquitted  by  a  majority  vote ;  but  the  jury,  bound  by 
their  oaths  to  return  a  true  verdict  according  to  the  evidence, 
would  not  do  so ;  but  still  there  was  one  dissenting  juror  ;  and 
finally  the  prosecuting  officer,  in  utter  despair,  after  the  third 
or  fourth  trial,  entered  a  nolle  prosequi,  and  thus  the  turkeys 
were  turned  or  driven  out  of  court.  I  have  heard  that  this 
alleged  turkey-thief  years  afterward  called  on  Mr.  Choate 
at  his  office  in  Boston.  Mr.  Choate  did  not  recollect  him, 
which  greatly  surprised  the  old  client,  and  he  said,  '  Why, 
Mr.  Choate,  I  am  the  man  you  plead  so  for  in  the  turkey 
case,  when  they  couldn't  find  anything  agin  me.'  There  had 
been  only  forty-four  good  and  true  men  against  him,  (if  there 
were  four  trials,  and  I  believe  there  were,)  without  including 
twenty-three  more  of  the  grand  jury  !  " 

The  power  of  presenting  things  in  a  ludicrous  aspect,  by 
an  odd  turn  of  expression  or  a  laughable  exaggeration,  was 
exhibited  at  this  early  period  no  less  decidedly  than  in  later 
life,  and  was  equally  effective  in  attracting  attention.     A  mis- 

VOL.  I.  3 


26  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  II. 

chievous  boy  had  proved  very  troublesome  to  a  man  by  the 
name  of  Adams,  by  letting  down  the  bars  of  his  pasture,  de- 
stroying the  fences,  and  similar  misdeeds.  Adams  one  day 
caught  him  at  his  tricks,  and  not  being  in  a  very  humane  or 
careful  mood,  seized  and  swung  him  round  by  the  hair  of  his 
head.  The  father  of  the  boy  prosecuted  Adams,  and  Mr. 
Choate  defended  him.  In  the  course  of  the  argument,  he 
characterized  the  act  as  "  a  little  paternal  stretching  of  the 
neck,  which  perchance  may  save  this  froward  lad  from  a  final 
and  more  eventful  stretching."  The  jury  seem  to  have 
thought  so  too,  for  Adams  was  acquitted. 

One  Philip  Finnigan  was  charged  with  stealing  grease 
and  ashes  from  a  Mr.  Nichols.  Finnigan,  on  getting  the 
articles,  said  they  were  for  Mr.  Winchester,  a  noted  soap 
manufacturer,  but  Mr.  Winchester  coming  up  at  the  moment, 
exposed  the  falsehood,  and  the  articles  were  returned.  Mr. 
Choate  in  the  defence,  contended  that  it  was  only  a  trick  to 
defraud  Mr.  Winchester  out  of  a  customer,  not  to  steal  from 
Mr.  Nichols  ;  "  a  shabby  and  ungentlemanhj  affah\  to  be  sure, 
but  not  the  crime  he  is  charged  with."  I  believe  the  defence 
was  successful. 

Mr.  Choate  was  at  this  time  in  full  health,  muscular  and 
vigorous,  of  a  pale  or  nearly  colorless  complexion,  with  a 
remarkably  intellectual  countenance.  A  gentleman,  then  a 
boy,  who  lived  very  near  him,  has  told  me  that  he  often 
stopped  to  look  at  him  through  the  window,  as  he  passed  by 
the  house  early  in  the  evening,  thinking  him  the  handsomest 
person  he  had  ever  seen. 

It  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  during  these  years 
at  Salem  he  was  mainly  occupied  with  inferior  cases,  or  in- 
terested in  the  criminal  law  to  the  neglect  of  other  branches 
of  the  profession.  Dependent  as  he  was  upon  his  own  exer- 
tions he  probably,  like  other  young  lawyers,  felt  obliged  to 
accept  such  cases  as  were  offered  to  him.  But  few,  perhaps, 
so  early  in  their  career,  have  had  a  wider  range  of  clients. 
One  of  the  most  important  trials  in  which  he  was  engaged, 
although  his  name  does  not  appear  on  the  record,  was  that 
of  Knapp,  for  the  murder  of  Capt.  Joseph  White.  That  cel- 
ebrated case  is  familiarly  known.  Capt.  White  was  found 
dead  in  his  bed  on  the  morning  of  April  7th,  1830.     Richard 


1830-1840.]  MODE    OF    STUDY.  £•7 

Crowninshiekl,  Jr.,  Joseph  J.  Knapp,  Jr.,  and  John  Francis 
Knapp,  were  arrested  and  cliarged  with  the  murder,  Crown- 
inshield  committed  suicide  in  prison,  and  Frank  Knapp  was 
put  on  trial  as  principal,  the  law  then  requiring  that  some 
one  should  be  convicted  as  principal,  before  any  one  could  be 
tried  as  accessory.  He  was  defended  by  Franklin  Dexter, 
and  William  H.  Gardiner.  Mr.  Webster,  was  employed  by 
the  relatives  of  Capt.  White,  to  assist  the  attorney  for  the 
government,  and  besides  him  were  retained  several  other 
lawyers,  who  were  prevented  by  professional  etiquette  from 
publicly  acting-  in  the  case.  Among  these  was  Mr.  Choate. 
The  trial  came  on  at  a  special  term  of*  the  Supreme  Court 
held  at  Salem,  July  20th.  It  continued  with  some  intermis- 
sion till  the  20th  of  August.  The  community  was  profoundly 
shocked  by  the  crime,  and  watched  the  course  of  the  trial 
with  the  deepest  interest.  The  counsel  for  the  government 
were  fully  aware  of  the  responsibility  resting  on  them,  and 
shared  the  agitation  pervading  the  town  and  county.  Every 
evening  they  deliberated  together,  and  I  have  been  told  by 
one  of  them,  that  Mr.  Webster  obviously  gave  great  heed  to 
the  suggestions  of  Mr.  Choate,  who  was  always  present  and 
a  prominent  adviser.  On  one  occasion  during  the  trial,  an 
obscure  but  important  fact  was  denied  by  the  counsel  for  the 
defence.  They  had  omitted  to  record  it,  and  it  was  found  to 
have  escaped  the  attention  of  every  one  except  Mr.  Webster 
and  Mr.  Choate,  who  were  thus  able  to  corroborate  each  other. 
During  his  entire  residence  in  Salem,  Mr.  Choate  was  a 
diligent  and  untiring  student  not  only  of  law,  but  of  the  whole 
circle  of  literature,  and  especially  of  mental  and  political  phi- 
losophy. He  had  laid  a  broad  foundation,  and  was  erecting  a 
lofty  and  beautiful  superstructure.  He  complained  sometimes 
of  his  desultory  habits,  but  his  friends  saw  how  carefully  he 
methodized  his  knowledge,  and  how  entirely  he  had  it  at  com- 
mand. His  habit  was  to  study  standing  at  a  high  desk,  with 
pen  in  hand,  and  a  manuscript  book  open  before  him.  These 
little  volumes  or  hr^oclmres, —  for  they  are  generally  a  quire  or 
two  of  letter-paper  stitched  together,  —  are  crowded  with  facts, 
incidents,  principles,  and  reflections,  which  demonstrate  both 
his  diligence  and  thoughtfulness.  The  equity  practice  of  Mas- 
sachusetts was  then  in  an  unsettled  and   confused   state.     He 


28  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS    CHOATE.  [Chap.  TI. 

devoted  himself  for  a  while  to  gathering-  up  the  statutes  and 
reducing  the  decisions  to  a  regular  code.  The  words  with 
which,  many  years  afterward,  he  briefly  delineated  the  charac- 
ter and  attainments  of  a  brother  lawyer,  may  even  at  this  time 
describe  his  own, 

"  His  knowledge  of  the  jurisprudence  of  chancery,  and  his 
fondness  for  it,  were  very  remarkable.  Few  men  of  any  time 
of  life  had  studied  it  so  thoroughly,  discerned  so  well  how  it 
rose  above,  and  how  it  supplied  the  deficiencies  of  the  common 
law,  or  loved  it  as  truly  and  intelligently.  To  such  a  mind 
and  such  tastes  as  his,  its  comparative  freedom  from  techni- 
calities, its  regulated '  discretion,  and  its  efforts  to  accomplish 
exact  justice  and  effectual  relief,  possessed  a  charm  and  had  a 
value,  far  beyond  that  of  the  more  artificial  science,  whose 
incompleteness  and  rigidity  it  supplies  and  ameliorates,  and 
whose  certainty  at  last  reposes  on  the  learning,  or  the 
ignorance,  or  the  humors  of  man. 

"  Beyond  his  profession  he  read  and  he  speculated  more 
variously  and  more  independently  than  most  men  of  any  pro- 
fession. Elegant  general  literature,  politics,  theology,  in  its 
relation  to  the  religion  revealed  in  the  Bible,  and  to  that  phi- 
losophy which  performs  its  main  achievements  in  conciliating 
faith  with  reason,  —  these  were  his  recreations." 

With  special  care  he  studied  again  the  philosophy  of  the 
Mind,  making  Dr.  Reid's  Essays  his  text-book,  and  during  a 
considerable  part  of  one  summer  devoted  himself  to  the  study 
of  theology,  in  preparation  of  a  case,  which  finally  he  did  not 
argue,  in  defence  of  a  person  charged  before  an  association  of 
ministers,  with  error  in  doctrine. 

His  literary  pursuits  and  the  increasing  demands  of  his  pro- 
fession, compelled  him  to  keep  somewhat  secluded  from  so- 
ciety, but  there  were  a  few  college  acquaintances  of  kindred 
tastes,  with  whom  he  maintained  a  correspondence,  and  in 
whose  welfare  he  ever  had  a  deep  interest.  Foremost  among 
these  was  his  old  friend  Rev.  Dr.  James  Marsh,  then  Presi- 
dent of  the  University  of  Vermont,  through  whose  efforts  the 
American  public  were  first  introduced  to  a  knowledge  of  the 
philosophical  writings  of  Coleridge,  and  whose  early  death 
took  from  us  one  of  the  most  thorough  scholars,  and  one  of 
the  profoundest  Christian  philosophers,  which  our  country  has 


1830-1840.]  NOMINATION   TO   CONGRESS.  £9 

produced.     There  were  few  men  for  whom  Mr.  Choate  had 
such  unquahfied  respect  and  affection. 

The  following  letter  is  in  reply  to  one  from  Dr.  Marsh  ask- 
ing him  to  review  the  forthcoming  edition  of  the   "  Aids  to 

Reflection  " :  — 

To  President  James  Marsh. 

"  Salem,  November  14,  1829. 

"  My  Dear  Sir,  —  I  thought  it  due  to  the  respect  and  love  I  bear  you, 
and  to  the  kindness  and  delicacy  of  the  terms  in  which  you  make  it,  to 
give  your  suggestion  one  week's  consideration  before  trusting  myself  to 
act  upon  it.  The  result  is  that  I  feel  it  will  be  wholly  impossible  for  me 
to  execute  this  duty  of  friendship  and  literature  in  a  manner  worthy  of 
the  book  or  its  editor,  or  of  the  elevated  and  important  purposes  at  which 
you  aim  in  this  high  enterprise.  I  know  you  believe  me  to  be  willing  to 
do  everything  in  such  circumstances  which  the  relation  we  sustain  to 
each  other  gives  a  right  to  expect,  and  it  is  with  veiy  real  regret  that  I 
feel  myself  unable  adequately  to  do  this  great  thing.  My  habits  have 
become  almost  exclusively  professional,  and  my  time,  I  don't  very  well 
know  how,  seems  to  be  just  about  as  completely  engrossed  by  the  cases 
of  business,  as  if,  like  Henry  Brougham,  I  was  habitually  arguing  my 
five  causes  a  day.  But  there  are  obstacles  in  the  way  which  lie  deeper, 
such  as  the  difficulty  of  gathering  up  the  faculties  which  are  now  scat- 
tered over  the  barren  technicalities  and  frivolous  controversies  of  my 
profession,  and  concentrating  them  fixedly  upon  a  great  moral  and  philo- 
sophical conception,  like  this  of  yours,  worthily  to  write,  edit,  or  review 
such  a  book.  Though  I  never  saw  it  I  may  say  so.  One  should  sit 
whole  weeks  and  months,  still,  alone,  in  a  study,  with  the  Apollo  Belve- 
dere in  marble  to  look  upon,  and  Plato,  Cicero,  Bacon,  Milton,  and  '  all 
those '  to  converse  with.  I  could  no  more  raise  myself  into  the  mood  for 
this  achievement  than  1  could  make  a  better  epic  poem  than  the  Iliad. 
But  I  rejoice  that  you  have  taken  this  matter  in  hand,  and  I  firmly  be- 
lieve you  will  produce  a  glorious  book  most  nobly  edited.  The  employ- 
ment of  preparing  it  must  be  elevating  and  salutary,  and  I  sincerely  hope 
its  general  public  success  may  be  brilliant  beyond  the  hopes  of  literary 
ambition.    I  shall  buy  the  book,  though  I  dare  not  undertake  to  review  it. 

"  I  had  no  suspicion  that  the  Orthodoxy  of  Andover  '  looked  askance  ' 
at  you  or  yours,  and  I  suspect  the  matter  has  been  overstated  to  you. 
But  it  may  be  so,  since  very  much  narrowness  of  mind  and  very  great 
soundness  of  faith  do  sometimes  go  together,  and  the  Professors  have  all 
a  sort  of  strange  horror  of  speculation,  however  regulated  by  a  general 
orthodox  belief^  and  a  sincere  love  of  truth  and  of  man.  But  '  nitor  in 
adversum,'  says  Burke,  '  is  the  motto  for  a  man  like  me.'  I  should  no 
more  stop  to  consider  how  a  volume  of  matured  and  brilliant  thoughts 
would  be  received  at  Andover,  than  how  it  would  be  received  by  the 
Pope  or  President  Jackson.  '  Tu  ne  cede  malis,  sed  contra  audentior 
ito^  Such  was  George  Canning's  self-exhortation,  when  he  went  forth 
morning  and  evening  to  fight  the  great  battles  of  liberty  and  emancipa- 
tion with  the  armed  and  mailed  champions  of  old  abuse,  error,  and  politi- 
cal orthodoxy,  and  a  thrilling  and  sustaining  scripture  it  is. 
3* 


30  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS    CHOATE.  [Chap.  II. 

"  And  now  I  shall  insist  upon  your  being  perfectly  satisfied  with  my 
declining  this  honor.  If  a  more  specific  reason  were  necessary,  I  might 
add  that  the  principal  term  of  our  S.  J.  C.  is  now  holding  here,  has  been 
for  a  fortnight,  and  will  be  till  the  last  of  December.  Then  I  have  to  go 
to  Boston  for  our  winter's  session.  Nay,  before  that  is  over,  I  hope  the 
country  will  ring  from  side  to  side  with  the  fame  of  your  book. 
"  With  best  regards  and  wishes,  and  Mrs.  Choate's  respects, 

"  I  am  Yours  affectionately, 

"  R.  Choate." 

In  1830,  Mr.  Choate  was  nominated  by  the  National  Re- 
publicans of  Essex  as  Representative  to  Congress.  The  result 
of  the  Convention  was  communicated  to  him  in  the  following 
characteristic  letter :  — 

"  Salem,  10th  Mo.  18,  1830. 
"  Rupus  Choate,  Esq.  —  The  Convention  have  determined,  after 
several  ballotings,  to  support  thee  for  Representative  to  Congress  for  this 
district ;  the  last  ballot,  which  produced  this  result,  stood  twenty-three 
to  twelve.  I  called  at  thy  office  previous  to  the  balloting  to  ascertain 
whether  the  nomination  would  be  agreeable,  and  after  the  vote  was  deter- 
mined I  informed  the  Convention  of  thy  absence,  and  a  committee  was 
appointed  to  inform  thee  of  the  result,  and  obtain  an  answer  of  accep- 
tance or  otherwise.  I  can  now  say  that  I  believe  no  other  name  would 
run  as  well  in  Lynn,  Chelsea,  Saugus,  and  Lynnfield,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
of  an  election  at  the  first  meeting,  provided  thy  acceptance  is  seasonably 
announced.  If  consistent  with  thy  interest  and  inclination,  it  would  be 
gratifying  to  me  to  hear  of  thy  acceptance.  When  we  find  the  right 
man  in  all  other  respects,  we  are  willing  to  waive  the  Masonic  objection, 
beheving  the  time  is  coming  when  all  men  of  talents  and  respectability 
will  leave  that  mere  shadow  for  things  more  substantial. 

"  Thy  friend, 

"  Stephen  Oliver." 

Mr.  Choate  was  then  thirty-one  years  old  and  had  already, 
as  we  have  seen,  passed  through  the  usual  initiatory  steps  of 
public  life,  by  serving  in  the  State  Legislature.  The  old  dis- 
trict of  Essex  South,  as  it  was  called,  had  been  represented  in 
Congress  for  eight  years  by  Hon.  Benj.  W.  Crowninshield, 
a  gentleman  of  great  respectability,  wealth,  and  family  distinc- 
tion, who  had  been  Secretary  of  the  Navy  under  Madison  and 
Monroe.  A  good  deal  of  feeling  was  naturally  expressed  by 
his  friends,  that  a  young  and  untried  man,  whose  political 
opinions  were  not  widely  known,  and  whose  acquaintance  with 
the  great  commercial  interests  of  the  district  could  not  be  pre- 
sumed to  equal  that  of  the  veterans  in  politics,  should  be 
nominated  in  place  of  their  tried  and  proved  representative, 


1830-1840.1  PLAN    OF    STUDY.  gl 

and  Mr.  Crownin shield  was  supported  as  an  independent  can- 
didate. Strong-  influences  were  of  course  brought  to  bear 
against  the  young  lawyer,  who  had  little  to  sustain  him  in  the 
conflict  besides  his  own  character  and  merits.  He  was  charged 
with  being  ambitious  ;  and  one  young  politician,  then  a  student 
at  law  in  the  office  of  Mr.  Saltonstall,  in  a  vehement  declama- 
tion, declared,  that  so  far  from  being  a  substantial  and  per- 
manent citizen,  like  Mr.  Crowninshield,  he  was  only  stopping 
in  Salem  for  a  short  time  "  while  he  oated  his  horse,"  as  he 
was  on  his  way  to  Boston. 

In  all  the  contest,  however,  it  was  remarked  that  no  unkind- 
ness  seemed  to  be  felt  towards  Mr.  Choate  personally.  His 
name  had  been  brought  forward  without  his  own  knowledge, 
mainly  through  the  agency  of  his  old  friends  in  Danvers,  and 
he  was,  with  some  difficulty,  prevailed  on  to  accept  the  honor. 
About  the  severest  thing  said  of  him,  politically,  during  an 
active  canvass,  was  a  remark  in  one  of  the  papers  that  "  Mr. 
Choate  is  a  gentleman  of  distinguished  talents,  but  we  regret 
to  state  that  he  is  suspected  of  Jacksonism  !  "  Suspected  or 
not,  however,  he  was  chosen,  after  an  honorable  and  exciting 
contest,  by  a  majority  of  more  than  five  hundred  votes  over 
all  opposing  candidates.  Although  not  ambitious  of  political 
life,  he  was  not  insensible  to  its  honors,  nor  untouched  by  its 
fascinations.  He  regarded  it,  however,  as  a  means  rather  than 
as  an  end.  The  opportunities  it  gave  for  acquaintance  with 
distinguished  men,  for  wide  observation  of  affairs,  and  study 
of  great  national  questions,  he  certainly  thought  much  of,  but 
his  heart  was  fixed  upon  his  profession,  both  as  a  necessity, 
and  as  offering  large  opportunities  for  attainment  and  emi- 
nence. The  new  position  brought  with  it  new  duties  and  re- 
sponsibilities from  which  he  did  not  shrink,  and  which  he  did 
not  undervalue.  He  at  once  endeavored  to  prepare  for  them. 
No  sooner  was  he  elected  than  he  laid  out  a  plan  of  study 
which  should  best  fit  him  honorably  to  represent  his  constit- 
uents. I  have  before  me  a  commonplace  book,  one  of  the 
small  manuscript  folios  spoken  of  before,  which  shows  both 
the  subjects  to  which  he  devoted  himself,  and  his  methods  of 
study.  The  first  page  is  as  follows ;  the  words  are  often 
abbreviated,  and  in  his  peculiar  handwriting,  difficult  to  deci- 
pher. 


S2  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  II. 

"  Nov.  4,  1830, 

"  FACIENDA   AD  MUNUS   NUPER   IBIPOSITUM. 

"1.  Pers.  quals.  [personal  qualities].  Memory,  —  Daily  Food  and 
Cowper  dum  ambulo.     Voice,  Manner,  —  Exercitationes  diurnfe. 

"2.  Current  Politics  in  papers.  1.  Cum  Notulis,  daily, —  Geog.  &c. 
2.  Annual  Regr.,  Past  Intelligencers,  &c. 

"  3.  District  S.  E-  [i.  e.  Essex  South],  Pop.  Occs.,  [Population,  Oc- 
cupations]. Modes  of  living.  Commerce,  —  The  Treaties,  — •  and  prin- 
ciples on  which  it  depends. 

"  4.   Civil  History  of  U.  States  —  in  Pitkin  and  [original]  Sources. 

"  5.  Exam,  of  Pending  Questions  :  Tariff,  Pub.  Lands,  Indians,  Nullifi- 
cation. 

"  6.  Am.  and  Brit.  Eloquence,  —  Wi-iting,  Practice." 

Then  follow  more  than  twenty  pages  of  the  closest  writing", 
with  abbreviated  and  condensed  statements  of  results  drawn 
from  many  volumes,  newspapers,  messages,  and  speeches,  with 
propositions  and  arguments  for  and  against,  methodically  ar- 
ranged under  topics,  with  minute  divisions  and  subdivisions. 
Some  of  these  heads,  under  which  he  endeavors  to  compress 
the  most  essential  political  knowledge,  are  these  :  — 

I.  Public  Lands,  giving  the  number  of  acres  in  the  whole 
country,  the  States  where  they  lie,  the  sources  whence  de- 
rived, the  progress  and  system  of  sales,  &c.,  &c. 

^.  Politics  of  1831,  brought  down  to  the  beginning  of  the 
session  in  December,  an  analysis  of  the  President's  Message, 
and  notes  upon  the  subjects  which  it  suggests  ;  the  measures 
and  policy  of  the  government. 

3.  The  Tariff,  beginning  with  an  analysis  of  Hamilton's 
Report  in  1790 ;  History  of  Legislation  respecting  it ;  In- 
ternal Improvements,  their  cost  and  the  Constitutional  power 
of  making  them. 

Then  follow  three  or  four  closely  written  pages  on  par- 
ticular articles :  wool,  cotton,  flax,  hemp,  iron,  as  affected  by 
the  tariff. 

4.  Analysis  of  British  opinions. 

5.  Cause  of  the  Excitement  in  the  Southern  States. 

6.  Commerce  of  the  United  States  in  1831. 

These  are  but  a  sample  of  the  subjects  which  occupied  his 
attention,  but  they  may  serve  to  indicate  the  thoroughness  with 
which  he  prepared  for  his  new  position.     A  letter  to  President 


1830-1840.]  SPEECHES  IN   CONGRESS.  S3 

Marsh  will  in  some  measure  show  his  feeling  and  views  re- 
specting political  life  :  — 

To   President  James  Marsh. 

".Salem,  November  14,  1830. 

"  My  dear  Sir,  —  I  am  extremely  obliged  to  you  for  the  very  kind 
notice  which  you  have  taken  of  what  has  lately  befallen,  —  a  new  and 
most  pleasant  indication  how  far  and  how  high  in  life  you  have  carried 
with  you  the  generosity  and  friendliness  of  our  earlier  intimacy.  Your 
letter  w^as  handed  me  in  court,  —  in  the  very  middle  of  the  agony  of  the 
trial  of  a  man  for  his  life, —  but  I  opened  it  straightway,  and  read  it 
with  the  keenest  pleasure,  —  and  forgetting  for  a  moment  your  glances  at 
the  future,  mused  for  an  hour  over  the  '  sweet  and  bitter  ftmcies'  that  are 
spread  over  the  recollections  of  the  days  of  our  personal  studious  inter- 
course, so  long  past.  Then  I  just  showed  the  outside  of  the  letter  to 
a  brother  lawyer,  who  knows  a  little  literature,  as  being  a  letter  from 
Jainies  Marsh  of  Burlington,  —  and  having  thus  sacrificed  to  vanity  a 
trifle,  roused  myself  up  to  hear  Webster  argue  a  great  question  of  law,  on 
whicli  the  life  of  the  worst  of  the  murderers  of  Captain  White  depended. 

"  The  matter  of  my  election  I  do  suppose  rather  a  foolish  one  on  my 
part,  — •  but  the  nomination  was  so  made  that  I  could  not  avoid  it  without 
wilfully  shutting  myself  out  of  Congress  for  life,  —  since  my  dechning 
would  undoubtedly  have  brought  forward  some  other  new  candidate,  who 
if  elected,  would  go  ten  years  at  least,  —  long  before  which  time,  if  living, 
I  might  have  removed  from  the  District.  The  opposition  which  was  got 
up  was  a  good  deal  formidable,  for  noise  and  anger  at  least,  and  the  won- 
der is  that  so  little  came  of  it.  I,  more  than  once,  while  it  was  raging 
about  me,  wished  myself  a  tutor  in  the  Indian  Charity  School,  upon  $350 
per  annum,  teaching  the  first  book  of  Livy  to  the  class,  and  studying  with 
you  that  dreadful  chapter  in  Mitford  about  the  Dialects.  The  responsibil- 
ities of  the  new  place  I  appreciate  fully  ;  —  pro  par-te  virili,  I  shall  try 
to  meet  them.  I  have  a  whole  year  yet,  you  know,  before  me,  before  I 
take  my  seat,  —  quite  short  time  enough  for  me  to  mature  and  enter  on  a 
course  of  study  and  thought  adapted  to  this  sphere  of  duty.  I  hardly 
dare  yet  look  the  matter  in  the  face.  Political  hfe  —  between  us  —  is 
no  part  of  my  plan,  although  I  trust  I  shall  aim  in  good  faith  to  perform 
the  duties  temporarily  and  incidentally  thus  assigned. 

"  Why  don't  you  let  me  know  your  daily  literary  employments,  — how 
you  divide  your  hours, — what  you  read,  think,  or  wa-ite.  I  should  dearly 
love  to  know  just  where  you  are  on  the  ocean  of  knowledge,  and  what 
are  at  any  given  moment,  the  great  objects  with  you  of  intellectual  intei'- 
est,  or  active  or  official  pursuit.  Have  you  read  a  little  book  called  the 
'Natural  History  of  Enthusiasm?'      I  approve  its  religious    character 

entirely,  and  should  think  it  the  book  of  a  noble  and  full  mind 

Please  to  present  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Marsh,  and  believe  me  ever, 

"  Respectfully  Yours, 

"  R.  Choate." 


S4<  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  II. 

Mr.  Choate  took  his  seat  in  Congress  in  December,  1831, 
and  soon  acquired  from  all  parties  that  involuntary  respect 
which  a  vigorous  and  well-stored  mind  is  sure  to  receive. 
He  was  modest  and  retiring,  seldom  obtruding  upon  the 
House  by  a  formal  speech,  was  not  very  tolerant  of  commit- 
tees, but  eagerly  watched  the  course  of  events,  carefully  ex- 
amined public  questions,  and  made  free  use  of  the  Library 
of  Congress.  Massachusetts  was  then  represented  by  men  of 
whom  any  State  might  be  proud.  In  the  Senate  were  Na- 
thaniel Silsbee  and  Daniel  Webster,  then  in  the  fulness  of 
his  strength  and  fame.  In  the  House  were  John  Quincy 
Adams,  Nathan  Appleton,  George  N.  Briggs,  Edward  Everett, 
and  John  Davis.  The  Congress  itself  was  composed  of  an  un- 
usual number  of  statesmen.  Among  the  Senators  were  Peleg 
Sprague,  Samuel  Prentiss,  William  L.  Marcy,  George  M. 
Dallas,  John  M.  Clayton,  Henry  Clay,  and  Thomas  H.  Ben- 
ton. The  House  had  such  men  as  James  M.  Wayne,  George 
M'Duffie,  George  Evans,  James  K.  Polk,  Thomas  Corwin, 
and  G.  C.  Verplauck.  In  this  body  Mr.  Choate  took  his  seat, 
as  it  soon  proved,  an  equal  among  equals.  It  was  a  period 
of  great  political  excitement.  General  Jackson  was  drawing 
near  the  close  of  the  first  term  of  his  Presidency,  sustained  by 
warm  friends,  yet  opposed  by  some  of  the  ablest  statesmen  in 
the  country. 

Mr.  Choate  made  but  two  speeches  during  the  session,  one 
on  Revolutionary  Pensions,  the  other  on  the  Tariff,  but  these 
gave  him  a  position  at  once  among  the  most  able  and  persua- 
sive speakers  of  the  House.  One  of  these  speeches  was  made 
under  unusual  circumstances.  The  subject  of  the  Tariff  had 
been  hanging  for  some  time  in  the  Committee,  when  one 
afternoon  Mr.  Choate  obtained  the  floor.  There  were  but  few 
members  present  when  he  rose,  but  as  he  continued  to  speak, 
one  after  another  came  from  the  lobbies  to  the  door,  stood  a 
moment  to  listen,  were  caught  and  drawn  to  their  seats  by 
the  irresistible  charm  of  his  mellifluous  utterance,  till  grad- 
ually the  hall  became  full,  and  all,  for  convenience  of  hearing, 
gathered  in  a  circle  about  the  speaker.  He  had  a  nervous 
dread  of  tinmder,  and  was  never  quite  at  ease  in  a  severe 
storm.  Before  he  had  half  finished  his  speech  a  dark  thun- 
der cloud  rolled  up  and  suddenly  burst  over  the  Capitol.     Mr. 


1830-1840.]  COLLEGE   FRIENDS.  S5 

Choate  was  standino-  directly  under  the  central  sky-Hglit ;  his 
face  pale  with  a  blackish  paleness,  and  his  whole  frame  tremu- 
lous with  unusual  excitement.  The  hearers  caught  his  emotion 
and  listened  intently  as  he  went  on.  At  the  same  time  the  in- 
creasing darkness,  the  rushing  wind  and  rain,  the  lurid  light 
through  the  distant  windows,  the  red  and  searching  gleams  of 
the  lightning,  the  rattling  peals  of  thunder,  the  circle  of  up- 
turned white  faces,  lighted  from  above,  gazing  earnestly  on  the 
speaker,  —  all  made  it  a  scene  not  easily  to  be  forgotten.  He 
spoke  in  the  modest,  deferential  manner  natural  to  him,  with 
the  same  delicious,  uninterrupted  flow  of  choice  words,  and  with 
hardly  a  gesture  except  the  lifting  and  settling  of  the  upper  part 
of  the  body,  and  he  sat  down  amidst  the  enthusiasm  of  those 
who  heard  him,  members  of  all  parties  rushing  to  offer  their 
congratulations.  His  position  as  a  parliamentary  orator  was 
established. 

The  tariff  and  nullification  were  the  great  subjects  which 
interested  the  public  mind  during  this  session.  A  single 
letter  to  a  constituent  will  give  an  insight  into  the  political 
hopes  and  fears  of  the  writer,  and  of  those  who  belonged  to 
the  same  party  with  him. 

To  Dr.  Andrew  Nichols,  Danvers,  Mass. 

"  Washington,  14tli  Jan.  1832. 
"  Dear  Sir,  —  I  have  just  received  your  favor  of  the  9th,  and  assure 
you  that  I  have  read  it  with  interest  and  pleasure.  You  will  have  seen 
before  this  reaches  you,  that  the  battle  is  already  begun,  and  that  Clay 
has  presented  to  the  Senate  and  the  country,  a  clear  and  explicit  outline 
of  the  principles  on  which  the  friends  of  the  tariff  are  willing  to  meet 
the  crisis  occasioned  by  the  extinguishment  of  the  debt.  This  exposi- 
tion of  his,  is  undoubtedly  the  result  of  the  combined  wisdom  of  the  whole 
tariff  party  as  here  represented,  and  the  committees  in  each  branch 
will  report  bills  carrying  the  principle  into  details.  It  is  considered  here 
a  sound,  just,  and  saving  creed ;  and  I  should  think  the  system  in  its 
great  features  perfectly  safe.  It  is  the  all-engrossing  topic.  I  cannot 
help  thinking  that  the  excitement  at  the  South  is  to  a  considerable  degree 
artificial.  Certain  it  is,  the  injurious  effects  of  the  tariff  on  them  are 
greatly  overrated.  To  the  cotton  manufacture,  I  should  say  they  are 
veiy  much  reconciled,  and  considering  what  a  vast  market  it  creates  for 
their  cotton,  —  taking  a  sixth  perhaps  of  the  whole  crop,  —  it  would  be 
strange  if  they  were  not.  Coarse  ivoollens  are  the  special  objects  of  their 
hostility.  Then  they  hate  New  England,  and  they  think,  or  affect  to 
think,  that  the  tariff  raises  the  prices  of  their  purchases,  for  the  sole 
benefit  of  the  New  England  manufacturer.  But  all  is  safe  and  sure,  and 
fifty  years  more  will  probably  satisfy  South  Carolina  herself  that  the  New 


S6  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  II. 

England  cotton  market,  the  increased  value  of  slaves,  diminished  quan- 
tity and  higher  price  of  cotton  from  the  sugar  culture  of  Louisiana,  the 
fall  of  prices  from  the  competition  of  American  and  foreign  manufactures 
in  our  own  market,  afford  even  her  some  compensation  for  the  prosperity 
of  the  North  and  East.  The  article  in  the  last  '  American  Quarterly '  is 
by  Senator  Johnston  of  Louisiana,  —  a  State  of  great  importance  to  the 
friends  of  the  system.  All  the  west,  the  middle  States,  and  east,  except 
Maine  and  New  Hampshire,  are  sound,  and  have  just  as  little  fancy  for 
slow  poison,  and  being  cut  up  in  detail,  as  they  have  for  violent  instan- 
taneous death,  or  a  general  rout.  Clay's  presence  in  the  Senate  this  win- 
ter is  providential.  Surely  he  is  needed  more  tlian  in  1824,  if  possible, 
and  he  has  cordial,  most  able,  and  sufficient  support  in  the  Senate.  His 
speech  was  not  showy,  nor  vehement,  but  cool,  plain,  paternal,  grave,  con- 
ciliatory. With  great  respect,  &c., 

"  R.  Choate." 

Among  the  college  friends  of  Mr.  Choate,  sympathizing 
with  him  in  love  of  learning,  and  carrying  his  pursuits  into 
fields  at  that  time  not  much  cultivated  in  this  country,  was 
Rev.  George  Bush,  a  thorough  scholar,  and  an  eloquent 
writer.  He  had  been  giving  a  careful  attention  to  Oriental 
literature,  and  sowing  the  seed  which  afterwards  grew  into  the 
"Life  of  Mohammed,"  Hebrew  Grammars,  and  Commentaries 
on  several  books  of  the  Old  Testament.  Many  years  after- 
wards he  adopted  the  opinions  of  Swedenborg,  and  deservedly 
obtained  great  respect  and  influence  among  the  followers  of 
that  mystic  philosopher  and  religious  apostle.  A  correspond- 
ence with  Mr.  Bush  was  revived  by  Mr.  Choate  during  this 
his  first  session  at  Washington. 

To  Rev.  George  Bush. 

"  Washington,  21  Jan.  1832. 
"  My  Dear  Sir,  —  I  received  a  few  days  since  a  portion  of  a  work  on 
which  I  had  heard  you  Avere  engaged,  addressed  to  me  in  a  handwriting 
which  I  could  not  fail  to  recognize  as  youi's,  although  the  most  recent 
specimen  of  it  in  my  possession  is  now  about  eleven  years  old.  I  em- 
brace the  generous  intimation  conveyed  in  this  notice,  to  present  to  you 
my  respects,  and  to  extend  to  you,  in  the  language  of  ordination,  the 
right  hand  of  that  old  and  cherished  fellowship  to  which  I  owe  so  much. 
....  IIow  have  these  eleven  years,  —  twelve  years,  is  it  not  ?  —  how 
has  time  '  which  changes  everything,  man  more  than  anything,'  dealt  with 
you  ?  What  a  curiosity  one  feels  to  see  if  he  can  find  the  traces  of  that 
imperceptible,  busy,  and  really  awful  touch  under  which  temple  and  tower 
at  length  fall  down,  upon  the  countenance  and  person,  in  the  eye,  tones, 
and  feelings  of  an  old  friend  long  absent !  In  one  respect,  this  long  in- 
terval has  been  to  both  of  us  alike  full  of  short  joy  and  enduring  sorrow, 
—  each  having  possessed  and  lost  an  object  of  dearest  love  which  the 


1830-1840.]         LETTER  TO   REV.    GEORGE   BUSH.  3y 

other  never  saw.  But  I  forgot  that  perhaps  you  never  heard  that  I  have 
buried  within  two  years  a  most  sweet  and  bright  child  of  four  years  old, 
whom  I  would  have  given  a  right  arm  to  save.  It  must  be  a  vast  alle- 
viation of  your  far  greater  bereavement  that  your  child  is  spared. 

"A  hundred  thousand  recollections  come  over  me  as  I  write  to  you,  which 
stop  me,  make  me  lay  down  my  pen,  and  rest  my  head  on  ray  hand.  Dis- 
missing them  all,  I  beg  to  know  Avhy  you  will  not  come  on  here  a  little 
while  this  winter  ?  Besides  your  friends  at  Dr.  Lindsley's,  you  will  find  at 
least  one  old  pupil  — besides  myself,  — a  Mrs.  H.,  the  wife  of  a  mejxiber  who 
remembei's  your  term  of  service  at  Mr.  D.'s  seminary  with  respect  and  af- 
fection, —  and  some  few  other  objects  of  interest.  Let  go  the  pains  and 
pleasures  of  authorship  for  a  month  ;  come  and  see  with  how  little  wisdom 
the  world  is  governed,  and  return  Avith  a  lighter  heart  to  Mohammed  and 
Joseph,  Arabia,  Egypt,  and  the  waters  of  Israel.  I  have  a  chamber  in 
a  third  story  by  myself;  a  long  table,  —  perhaps  the  most  desirable  of 
luxuries,  —  with  two  windows  looking  out  upon  the  shores  of  Virginia, 
the  setting  sun,  and  the  grave  of  Washington,  and  here  you  shall  sit  if 
you  will,  and  we  will  sacrifice  to  renewed  friendship  and  auld  lang  syne. 
But  I  forget  all  proprieties,  like  the  Dominie  upon  the  recovery  of  Ber- 
tram. I  stop  short  therefore,  first  earnestly  hoping  to  hear  from  you  im- 
mediately. With  great  regard  and  affection.  Yours, 

"  R.  Choate." 


To  Rev.  George  Bush. 

"  Washington,  Feb.  12,  1832. 
"Mt  Dear  Sir,  —  I  hardly  can  get  time,  so  'strenuous'  and  full  of 
incident  is  the  idleness  of  our  life  here,  to  write  a  letter,  except  of  a  Sun- 
day afternoon,  after  morning  at  church.     Last  Sunday  I  began  to  write 
you,  —  was  interrupted,  and,  like  a  resolution  offered  the  last  month  of 

the  session,  it  has  stood  over  one  week I  shall  send  you  what  I 

write  to-day,  though  it  be  no  more  than  a  bare  expression  of  thanks  for 
your  letter,  and  a  hope  to  have  many  more  like  it.  I  learn  from  Dr.  C. 
that  your  brother's  health  compels  him  to  take  a  voyage,  which  of  course 
puts  it  out  of  your  power  to  continue  your  personal  attentions.  If  this 
leaves  you  so  much  disengaged  that  you  can  come,  I  hope  to  see  you  here 
yet.  You  will  be  driven  fz'ora  that  great  city  by  the  cholera  I  am  afraid, 
before  long,  —  an  awful  scourge  of  national  and  personal  sins,  which  we 
can  no  more  escape  in  this  country,  than  we  can  turn  back  the  east  wind 
to  his  sources  in  the  caves  of  the  sea.  I  board  with  a  physician,  and  have, 
therefore,  an  instructed  and  reasonable  dread  of  this  business.  But  whoso 
best  knows  Washington,  will  be  least  disposed  to  recommend  it  as  a  city 
of  refuge.  I  was  surprised  at  the  reasons  you  suggest  for  withdrawing 
from  the  pulpit.  But  it  little  matters  what  the  vocation  is,  if  it  be  suited 
to  the  measure,  fulness,  and  desires  of  the  mind  which  it  attaches  to  itself. 
I  think  educated,  tasteful,  and  knowing  men,  however,  should  remember 
that '  great  parts  are  a  great  trust,'  and  that  there  is  responsibleness  con- 
nected as  well  with  the  proper  selection  of  employment,  as  with  the  dis- 
charge of  its  duties  when  selected.  I  hold  a  good  book  and  good  sermon, 
to  be  not  only  well  per  se,  but  to  be  worthy,  fitting,  and  adequate  achieve- 

VOL.   I.  4 


g8  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  U. 

ments  of  good  minds.  Authorship  and  the  business  of  instruction  go 
well  together,  however,  or  else  the  introduction  to  Old  Mortality  is  as 
much  a  fiction  as  the  main  story. 

"  I  should  think,  quocunque  nomine  gaudes,  however  employed,  New 
York  would  be  a  pleasant  residence  for  you.  To  be  sure,  as  in  duty 
bound,  I  hold  Boston,  with  its  University  society,  rather  the  best  place 
to  live  in,  in  all  North  America,  but  I  cannot  but  see  its  inferiority  in 
some  respects  to  New  York.  You  are  so  near  to  England,  and  so  cen- 
tral to  all  the  art,  enterprise,  science,  mind,  and  politics  of  the  Republic, 
that  you  have  great  advantage  over  the  more  provincial  portions  of  the 
country,  so  much  farther  from  which  the  '  sun  drives  his  chariot.'  There 
must  be  a  wide  circle  of  fine  minds  in  that  city,  —  Verplanck  here  is  such 
an  one  I  should  think,  — '  a  thing  that's  most  uncommon,'  an  honest, 
learned,  modest,  reasonable  man,  —  yet  a  Van  Buren  Jacksonian, — cred- 
its posteri  ! 

"  What  do  you  think,  now,  —  I  have  the  Shakspeare  here  which  you 
gave  me,  and  I  read  a  few  lines  of  Greek  and  Latin  every  morning,  and 
I  trust,  if  we  should  meet,  we  could  take  each  other  up  just  where  we 
were  set  down  twelve  years  ago,  even  in  the  humanities.  In  all  love 
and  honor,  respect  and  affection,  I  am  sure  we  could.  I  wish  you  would 
write  me  very  often,  assured  always  that  you  write  to  a  constant,  as  well 
as  old  friend.  Yours  ever, 

»  R.  Choate." 

Congress  adjourned  July  M,  1832.  The  summer  and  au- 
tumn were  full  of  political  excitement.  The  result  of  the  elec- 
tions was  the  renewed  choice  of  Andrew  Jackson  for  President, 
(over  Henry  Clay,)  by  an  iumiense  majority.  The  result  was 
not  unexpected.  "  The  news  from  the  voting  States,"  wrote 
Mr.  Choate  to  Mr.  Everett  on  the  10th  of  November,  "  blows 
over  us  like  a  great  cold  storm.  I  suppose  all  is  lost,  and  that 
the  map  may  be  rolled  up  for  twelve  years  to  come.  Happy 
if  when  it  is  opened  again,  no  State  shall  be  missing." 

Among  the  subjects  which  deeply  agitated  the  popular  mind 
of  the  North,  especially  of  the  religious  communities,  was  the 
treatment  of  the  Southern  Indians,  by  the  States  within  whose 
boundaries  they  existed. 

In  legislating  against  the  Cherokees,  Georgia  had  passed 
a  law  that  no  white  man  should  reside  within  the  limits  of 
the  Cherokee  nation,  without  permission  from  the  governor 
of  the  State,  and  after  having  taken  an  oath  to  support  and 
defend  the  laws  of  Georgia,  on  penalty  of  imprisonment  at 
hard  labor  for  a  term  not  exceeding  four  years.  Under  this 
law  Rev.  Messrs.  Worcester  and  Butler,  missionaries  of  the 
American  Board  to  the  Indians,  and  five  others,  were  tried 


1830-1840.]  LETTER   TO   PROFESSOR  BUSH.  39 

and  sentenced  in  September,  1831.  After  conviction,  pardon 
was  offered  on  condition  of  obedience  to  the  State  law.  Five 
persons  accepted  the  offer,  but  Messrs.  Worcester  and  Butler 
refused  and  appealed  to  the  U.  S.  Supreme  Court.  Mr.  Wirt 
and  Mr.  Sergeant  argued  their  cause.  Georgia  did  not  appear, 
but  the  court,  in  March,  183.^,  pronounced  the  law  of  the 
State  unconstitutional,  Georgia  refused  to  obey  the  man- 
date or  reverse  her  decision.  The  missionaries,  however,  af- 
ter about  eighteen  months'  imprisonment,  were  pardoned  and 
released  on  the  16th  of  January,  1833.  In  the  mean  time 
nullification,  as  it  was  called,  had  assumed  a  portentous  mag- 
nitude in  South  Carolina.  A  convention  had  been  hoi  den  ; 
the  State  bristled  with  bayonets  ;  defiance  was  upon  every 
lip.  At  the  head  of  the  general  government  was  a  man, 
who,  whatever  were  his  faults,  never  lacked  courage,  or  reso- 
lution, or  patriotism.  In  January,  1833,  General  Jackson 
issued  his  famous  proclamation  against  South  Carolina.  It 
was  honest,  weighty,  and  irresistible.  Party  feeling  for  a 
while  w^as  quelled.  The  moral  sentiment  of  the  country  sus- 
tained the  President.  A  letter  from  Mr.  Choate  to  his 
friend,  Prof.  Bush,  who  seems  for  the  moment  to  have  taken 
a  view  opposed  to  the  President,  will  indicate  his  own  feeling 
and  that  of  many  others  with  him. 

To  Professor  George  Bush. 

"  Washington,  January  i'9,  1833. 
"  My  dear  Friend,  —  Your  letter  finds  me  swallowing  lots  of  worm- 
wood tea,  —  not  to  sweeten  my  imagination,  but  to  check  a  furious  sick 
headache,  —  a  poor  mood  for  answering  deep  questions,  though  an  excel- 
lent one  for  appreciating  a  letter  from  a  loved  and  honored  friend.  Did 
I  not  talk  about  you  an  hour  to  Dr.  Bond,  —  Tutor  Bond,  —  last  Sunday 
evening?  The  Doctor  stands  against  time  like  'an  obelisk  fronting  the 
sun.'  He  reminds  me  of  Livy's  pictured  page,  I  wai'rant  me,  of  Consuls, 
Lictors,  axes,  and  especially  Tarpeian  rocks,  —  down  which  all  nullifiers 
and  states-rights  men  —  except  you  —  ought  to  be  precipitated,  Sena- 
tus  consulto,  edicto,  plehiscito,  —  Latin  or  no  Latin,  —  under  the  gram- 
mar or  against  it.  How  the  missionaries  settled  the  matter  with  their 
cause  and  consciences  I  have  never  heard.  Speaking  as  a  politician,  I 
rejoice  that  Georgia  has  been  thus  detached  from  South  Carolina,  and 
harnessed  into  the  great  car  of  the  Constitution.  It  needs  tali  auxilio 
et  defensorihas  istis  even.  My  dear  friend,  there  is  no  more  danger  of 
consolidation  —  (that  is  until  the  States  first  go  apart,  snapping  these  ties 
of  gauze),  than  there  is  of  an  invasion  by  the  real  Xerxes  of  Herodotus. 
One  single  mistake  now,  any  yielding,  anything  short  of  a  dead  march  up 


40  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS  CHOATE.  [Chap.  U. 

to  the  whole  outermost  limit  of  Constitutional  power,  and  the  Federal 
Govei^nment  is  contemptible  forever.  The  Geox'gia  case  is,  to  be  sure,  a 
bad  business.  It  is  a  clear  case  of  nullification  by  the  State.  But  so  far 
as  the  missionaries  are  concerned,  the  Federal  Government  has  not  de- 
clined any  duty.  The  Judiciary  performed  its  part.  The  President  is 
called  on  for  nothing,  until  another  application  to  the  Federal  Judiciary, 
and  that,  you  see,  the  pardon  interposes  to  render  unnecessary.  The  two 
systems  have  not  directly  clashed  though  they  bit  their  thumbs.  The 
Indians,  —  the  treaties,  —  the  whole  code  of  intercourse  law,  —  all  go 
overboard  of  course.  The  moral  guilt  of  the  S.  C.  case  is  less.  The 
constitutional  enormity  of  the  thing  is  more  palpable  and  more  tangible, 

and  the  precedent,  joe/'oris  ea;e/»^^i — />esszmi  indeed 

"  The  session  is  now  one  of  thrilling  interest.  Calhoun  is  drunk  with 
disappointment ;  the  image  of  an  ardent,  imaginative,  intellectual  man, 
who  once  thought  it  as  easy  '  to  set  the  stars  of  glory  on  his  brow '  as  to 
put  his  hat  on  ;  now  ruined,  dishonored.  He  has  to  defend  the  most  con- 
temptible untruth  in  the  whole  history  of  human  opinion,  and  no  ability 
will  save  him  from  contempt  mentally.  Then  he  hoped  to  recover  him- 
self by  a  brilliant  stroke,  permanently  inserting  nullification  into  our 
polity,  and  putting  himself  at  the  head  of  a  great  Convention  of  the 
States,  —  a  great  midnight  thunder-storm,  hail-storm,  meeting  of  witches 
and  demons,  round  a  caldron  big  enough  to  receive  the  disjecta  membra 
of  the  Constitution, — thence  never  to  come  a  whole,  still  less  a  blooming, 
young  and  vigorous  form.  Wherefore  pereat.  I  am  somewhat  weak 
from  medicine,  and  must  bid  you  farewell.  Write  me  daily,  and  recon- 
sider the  point  of  Consolidation.     I  say  that  will  come  with  Xerxes. 

"  Truly  yours, 

"E.  Choate." 

In  April,  1833,  having  been  again  nominated  by  the  Na- 
tional Republicans,  Mr.  Choate  was  reelected  to  Congress  by 
an  increased  majority.  Opposition  from  the  friends  of  Mr. 
Crowninshield  had  nearly  died  away,  and  from  many  of  them 
he  received  a  cordial  support.  The  most  exciting  subject 
of  the  next  session  was  the  Bank  of  the  United  States.  The 
President  had  already  refused  assent  to  a  bill  re-chartering 
this  institution,  and  soon  after  determined  to  remove  the  pub- 
lic moneys  deposited  in  its  vaults.  After  the  adjournment  of 
Congress,  in  March,  1833,  William  J.  Duane  of  Pennsylvania, 
was  appointed  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  Mr.  M'Lane  having 
been  transferred  to  the  Department  of  State.  The  President 
at  once  urged  the  new  Secretary  to  remove  the  deposits, 
which,  not  being  convinced  of  the  wisdom  of  the  measure,  he 
declined  to  do.  Upon  this  President  Jackson  removed  him 
from  office,  and  appointed  in  his  place  Roger  B.  Taney,  who 
immediately  carried  out  the  wishes  of  the   Executive.     Great 


1830-1840J  ANECDOTE    OF   BEN   HARDIN.  41 

commercial  distress  followed  this  proceeding.  The  act  was 
condemned  by  many  of  the  friends  of  the  administration  as 
well  as  by  the  opposition.  Confidence  was  destroyed,  business 
interrupted,  industry  checked,  and  all  moneyed  institutions 
deranged,  where  but  a  few  months  before  everything  was  ac- 
tive and  prosperous.  The  Senate  was  opposed  to  the  Presi- 
dent, and  passed  a  resolution  censuring  his  conduct ;  but  the 
House  had  a  large  majority  in  his  favor.  Memorials  were 
addressed  to  Congress  from  various  cities  and  public  bodies. 
The  Committee  of  Ways  and  Means  having  submitted  a  re- 
port with  reference  to  the  removal  of  the  deposits,  Mr.  Choate 
addressed  the  House  on  the  28th  March,  1834-.  He  had 
prepared  himself  to  consider  the  whole  subject  in  its  con- 
stitutional relations  as  well  as  financial,  but  at  the  suggestion 
of  Mr,  Webster,  confined  himself  to  the  latter  branch  of 
the  subject.  The  speech  is  direct,  earnest,  persuasive,  and 
conciliatory.  It  was  with  relation  to  this  speech  that  the  an- 
ecdote is  told  of  Benjamin  Hardin,  —  "  Old  Ben  Hardin"  — 
as  he  was  called,  of  Kentucky,  who  then  heard  Mr.  Choate 
for  the  first  time.  I  give  it  in  the  words  of  one  who  was 
present.  "  Mr.  Hardin  was  an  old  stager  in  politics,  a  strong- 
minded,  though  somewhat  rough  individual,  who  was  not  dis- 
posed to  much  leniency  in  his  criticisms  of  the  efforts  of 
younger  members.  He  was,  like  Mr.  Choate,  Whig  in  poli- 
tics, and  several  days,  or  perhaps  weeks,  after  the  speech  of 
Mr.  Choate,  he  made  an  elaborate  argument  on  the  same 
question,  and  on  the  same  side.  At  the  outset  of  his  remarks 
he  stated  that  it  was  his  uniform  rule  not  to  listen  to  speeches 
upon  the  same  side  of  a  question  that  he  intended  to  discuss, 
as  he  wished  to  be  conscious  of  feeling  that  no  part  of  his  ar- 
gument had  been  anticipated  by  others,  '  but,'  said  he,  '  I  was 
compelled  to  depart  from  this  rule  once  during  this  debate. 
The  member  from  Massachusetts  rose  to  speak,  and,  in  ac- 
cordance with  my  custom,  I  took  my  hat  to  leave,  lingering  a 
moment  just  to  notice  the  tone  of  his  voice  and  the  manner  of 
his  speech.  But  that  moment  was  fatal  to  my  resolution.  I 
became  charmed  by  the  music  of  his  voice,  and  was  captivated 
by  the  power  of  his  eloquence,  and  found  myself  wholly  una- 
ble to  move  until  the  last  word  of  his  beautiful  speech  had 
been  uttered.'  " 

4* 


4£  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  £Chap.  11. 

At  the  close  of  this  session,  having  determined  to  remove 
to  Boston,  Mr.  Choate  resigned  his  place  in  Congress.  While 
at  Salem  he  had  continued  his  studies  in  literature,  always  w^ith 
him  second  only  in  interest  to  the  profession  on  which  he  de- 
pended for  daily  bread.  Besides  the  lecture  on  the  "  Waverley 
Novels,"  he  had  delivered  another  on  Poland,  taking  the  oc- 
casion from  the  revolution  in  that  country  to  present  a  well- 
considered  and  careful  picture  of  her  government,  resources, 
and  people,  in  a  style  fervid,  yet  moderate  and  sustained.  He 
also  delivered  an  address  at  the  centennial  celebration  of  the 
settlement  of  Ipswich. 

In  removing  to  Boston  Mr.  Choate  felt  that  the  experiment 
was  doubtful.  Some  judicious  friends  advised  against  the 
change.  He  left  an  established  position,  and  a  growing  prac- 
tice, for  severer  contests  and  a  sharper  rivalship.  But  gen- 
erous rivalry  he  never  feared,  and  the  result  showed  how  truly 
he  estimated  his  own  powers.  He  had  now  a  family  —  two 
daughters  and  a  son  —  to  stimulate  his  labor.  Two  older 
children  he  had  lost.  They  now  lie  in  the  graveyard  at 
Essex. 

Not  long  after  he  came  to  Boston,  as  early  perhaps  as 
1836,  he  gave  a  lecture  on  "The  Romance  of  the  Sea."  The 
subject  was  one  in  which  he  could  revel.  The  mystery,  the 
power  of  the  ocean,  the  achievements  upon  its  many  waters, 
all  that  poets  have  sung,  all  that  history  or  fiction  has  told, 
went  to  form  the  substance  or  illustration  of  the  theme.  It 
was  one  of  the  most  fascinating  of  his  many  lectures.  He 
afterwards  lost  it,  or  it  was  stolen  from  him,  in  New  York. 
But  if  stolen  it  is  really  pleasant  to  think  of  the  disappointment 
of  the  thief.  A  Coptic  manuscript  would  have  been  to  him 
quite  as  legible. 

The  first  six  or  seven  years  in  Boston  were  marked  mainly 
by  a  steady  growth  in  his  profession.  Every  young  man  who 
enters  such  a  community,  bringing  a  reputation  earned  in  a 
different  field,  is  necessarily  subjected  to  close  scrutiny.  His 
ability  is  judged  by  a  new,  and  perhaps  severer  standard.  He 
is  a  stranger  until  he  has  proved  himself  worthy  of  the  fellow- 
ship of  a  citizen.  The  pride  of  the  bar,  generous,  but  neces- 
sarily exclusive,  grants  its  honors  to  him  only  who  can  fairly 
win   them.      Mr.   Choate,  —  whose  appearance  and   manner 


1830-1840.]  FIRST  FEW  YEARS   IN   BOSTON.  43 

were  unique,  whose  eloquence  then  was  as  exuberant,  fervid, 
and  rich  as  it  ever  became ;  who,  however  modest  for  himself, 
was  bold  almost  to  rashness  for  his  client ;  who  startled  court 
and  jury  by  his  vehemence,  and  confounded  the  commonplace 
and  routine  lawyer,  by  the  novelty  and  brilliancy  of  his  tactics  ; 
who,  free  from  vulgar  tricks,  was  yet  full  of  surprises,  and 
though  perpetually  delighting  by  the  novelty  and  beauty  of  his 
argument,  was  yet  without  conceit  or  vanity, — could  not  at  once 
be  fully  understood  and  appreciated.  He  fairly  fought  his  way 
to  eminence  ;  created  the  taste  which  he  gratified ;  and  demon- 
strated the  possibility  of  almost  a  new  variety  of  eloquence. 
It  would  have  been  surprising,  if  he  had  not  to  contend  with 
prejudices  which  time  only  could  fully  melt  away.  For  several 
years  it  was  rather  the  fashion  to  laugh  at  his  excessive  vehe- 
mence of  gesture,  and  playful  exaggerations,  but  when  it  was 
found  that  the  flowers  and  myrtle  concealed  a  blade  of  perfect 
temper,  and  as  keen  as  any  that  the  dryest  logician  could  forge, 
that  the  fervent  gesticulator  never  for  one  moment  lost  com- 
mand of  himself  or  his  subject,  nor  failed  to  hold  the  thought 
and  interest  of  the  jury,  as  the  ancient  mariner  held  the  wed- 
ding-guest, till  convinced,  delighted,  entranced,  they  were  eager 
to  find  a  verdict  for  his  client,  —  doubt  gave  place  to  confi- 
dence, and  disparagement  to  admiration.  During  these  six 
or  seven  years  he  was  steadily  growing  in  knowledge  and  in 
influence.  He  made  the  more  familiar  acquaintance  with  the 
leaders  of  the  Suffolk  bar,  then  unsurpassed  in  the  whole  land 
for  ability  and  learning.  There  he  met  (not  to  speak  of  the 
living),  the  polished  rhetoric  of  Franklin  Dexter,  the  subtle 
and  powerful  logic  of  Jeremiah  Mason,  and  the  tremendous 
weight  and  authority  of  Webster.  He  heard  the  law  ex- 
pounded and  declared  by  the  integrity,  and  learning  and  wis- 
dom of  Samuel  Hubbard,  and  Samuel  Sumner  Wilde,  and 
Lemuel  Shaw.  To  meet  such  competitors,  to  stand  unharmed 
before  the  judgments  of  such  a  tribunal,  compelled  the  most 
diligent  and  unremitting  study.  Distinction  could  be  attained 
only  by  merit.  Eminence  was  itself  proof  of  high  abilities  and 
of  strenuous  labor.  Preserving  his  interest  in  letters,  he  still 
found  time  to  deliver  a  number  of  lectures  before  associations 
of  young  men,  and  with  ever  increasing  popularity.  He  suf- 
fered also  a  severe  domestic  calamity.     Two   daughters  were 


44.  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IL 

born  to  him  in  Boston.  Of  these  the  youngest,  Carohne,  was 
in  1840,  three  years  old.  To  all  his  children  he  was  tenderly 
attached,  and  to  her,  perhaps  as  being  the  youngest,  especially. 
She  was  a  beautiful  child,  and  he  never  failed,  coming  home 
late  from  the  labors  of  his  office,  to  go  up  to  the  room  where 
she  was  sleeping,  to  give  her  an  evening  kiss.  The  following 
account  of  her  last  hours,  in  the  words  of  a  clergyman,  who, 
in  the  absence  of  Mr.  Choate's  pastor,  Rev.  Dr.  Adams,  was 
called  to  be  present,  will  show  the  extreme  tenderness  and 
affection  of  the  father.  On  the  day  of  her  death  Mr.  Choate 
had  sent  him  the  following  note  :  — 

"  Boston,  Saturday  morning. 
"  To  Rev.  Hubbard  Winsloiv  :  — 

"  My  dear  Sir,  —  I  am  apprehensive  that  I  am  about  losing  my 
youngest  child,  and  I  take  the  liberty  to  ask  you,  if  not  very  inconvenient, 
to  do  us  the  great  kindness  of  baptizing  her.  Her  mother  is  a  member 
of  a  church,  and  this  ordinance  has  been  accidentally  delayed. 

"  I  am  aware  of  the  freedom  of  this  request,  but  I  hope  the  severity 
and  peculiarity  of  our  trying  circumstances  will  excuse  it.  It  seems  to 
us  that  3  o'clock  p.  m.,  or  a  little  after,  may  be  as  late  as  we  shall  desire 
to  delay  —  perhaps  too  late. 

"  If  you  can  consent  to  do  us  this  favor,  and  will  apprise  me  of  the  de- 
cision, I  will  send  a  carriage  for  you. 

"  Very  respectfully,  your  obedient  servant, 

"  RuFus  Choate." 

"  Entering  the  chamber,"  says  Dr.  Winslow,  "  at  the  ap- 
pointed time,  I  found  the  family  all  assembled.  The  beautiful 
little  girl  of  perhaps  three  years  lay  dying.  Mr.  Choate  said, 
'  I  hope  you  will  pardon  this  liberty.  We  have  given  our 
dear  child  to  God,  and  we  think  He  is  about  to  take  her ;  but 
we  have  neglected  her  baptism.'  I  said  a  few  words  of  the 
ordinance  as  not  essential  to  the  salvation  of  the  child,  but  the 
answer  of  a  good  conscience  on  the  part  of  the  parents.  He 
assented,  and  said  he  desired  to  do  his  duty  in  that  particular. 
All  kneeled  in  prayer,  and  after  the  ordinance  and  a  few  re- 
marks, I  was  about  to  retire,  to  leave  the  weeping  family  to 
the  sacredness  of  their  domestic  sorrow,  when  Mr.  Choate 
took  my  hand  and  besought  me  to  remain  with  them  while 
the  child  lived.  I  consented  to  remain  till  evening,  when 
I  had  another  engagement.  He  stood  by  the  fireplace,  rest- 
ing his  elbows  on  the  marble,  burying  his  face  in  his  hands, 
evidently  absorbed  in  prayer.     Mrs.  Choate  was  bending  over 


1830-1840.]        DEATH   OF  HIS  YOUNGEST   CHILD.  4,5 

the  pillow,  with  the  yearning  tenderness  of  a  mother,  and  the 
older  children  and  servants  stood  around  in  silent  grief; 
while  I  sat  by  the  bedside  observing  the  child's  symptoms, 
and  sometimes  repeating  a  passage  of  Scripture  or  a  pertinent 
stanza  of  poetry.  And  thus  a  full  hour  passed  in  silence,  in 
prayer,  in  tears,  in  communion  with  death  and  eternity,  Mr. 
Choate  remaining  motionless  as  a  statue  during  the  whole 
time.  Perceiving  the  pulse  failing  and  the  breath  becoming 
very  short  and  difficult,  I  said  '  Mr.  Choate,  I  fear  the  dear 
child  is  just  leaving  us.'  He  then  came  to  the  bedside,  em- 
braced her,  kissed  her  three  times,  and  then  returned  and 
resumed  his  position  as  before.  All  the  family  followed  him 
in  the  parting  kiss.  A  few  moments  after,  the  angel  spirit 
fled.  I  closed  the  sightless  eyes,  and  said,  '  My  dear  Mr. 
Choate,  your  sweet  child  is  in  heaven  !  '  He  burst  instantly 
into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  sobbed  aloud.  He  did  not  change 
his  position,  but  remained  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands, 
and  the  tears  pouring  like  rain-drops  upon  the  hearth-stone. 
And  thus  he  continued,  until  duty  compelled  me  to  leave  the 
chamber  of  death.  He  then  came  and  thanked  me,  and  said 
with  deep  emotion,  '  I  feel  greatly  comforted ;  my  dear  child 
has  gone  home.  It  was  God's  will  to  take  her,  and  that  is 
enough.' " 


46  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS  CHOATE.  [Chap.  III. 


CHAPTER    III. 

1841-1843. 

Professional  Advancement  —  Letters  to  Richard  S.  Storrs,  Jr.  —  Chosen 
Senator  in  place  of  Mr.  Webster  —  Death  of  General  Harrison  —  Eulogy  in 
Fanenil  Hall  —  Extra  Session  of  Congress  —  Speech  on  the  M'Leod  Case  — 
The  Fiscal  Bank  Bill  —  Collision  with  Mr.  Clay  —  Nomination  of  Mr.  Ever- 
ett as  Minister  to  England  —  Letter  to  Mr.  Sumner  —  Letters  to  his  Son  — 
The  next  Session  —  Speech  on  providing  further  Remedial  Justice  in  the 
United  States  Courts  —  Letters  to  Mr.  Sumner  —  The  North  Eastern 
Boundary  Question  —  Journal. 

Mr.  Choate's  professional  advancement  in  Boston  was  no 
accident,  nor  the  result  of  peculiarly  favoring  circumstances. 
It  was  the  reward  of  untiring  diligence  as  well  as  of  great 
ability.  Every  day  he  was  gaining  ground,  enlarging  and 
consolidating  his  knowledge,  and  invigorating  his  faculties. 
A  few  years  served  to  give  him  a  position  second  to  none  ex- 
cept the  acknowledged  and  long-tried  leaders  of  the  bar.  His 
consummate  judgment  in  the  conduct  of  a  cause,  no  less  than 
his  brilliant  power  as  an  advocate,  commanded  respect  from 
the  most  able.  He  knew  when  to  speak,  and,  what  is  more 
difficult,  when  to  be  silent.  In  the  most  intricate  and  doubt- 
ful case,  when  fairly  engaged,  he  did  not  allow  himself  to  de- 
spair, and  was  often  successful  against  the  greatest  odds.  In 
defeat  he  was  never  sullen,  and  in  victory  he  bore  himself 
with  so  much  modesty  and  gentleness,  that  few  envied  his  suc- 
cess. He  especially  attached  to  himself  the  younger  members 
of  the  profession,  by  unvarying  kindness.  He  had  great  sym- 
pathy for  a  young  lawyer.  His  advice  and  aid  were  always 
ready  ;  voluntarily  offered  if  he  thought  they  were  needed ; 
and  if  sought,  cheerfully  and  freely  bestowed.  He  assumed 
no  superiority  in  this  intercourse,  but  by  a  kind  suggestion  or 
a  few  words  of  encouragement,  insured  success  by  inspiring 
confidence. 

The  following  letter  is  in  answer  to  one  asking  his  advice 
as  to   a   course  of  reading.     The  gentleman  to  whom  it  was 


1841-1843.]  LETTERS   TO   R.  S.  STORRS,  JR.  4^ 

written,  had  entered  his  office  as  a  student,  but  subsequently, 
on  account  of  Mr.  Choate's  probable  absence  from  Boston, 
went  to  spend  a  year  in  general  studies  at  Andover. 

To  Richard  S.  Storks,  Jr. 

"Boston,  2d  Jan.  1841. 

"  Dear  Sir,  —  I  should  have  been  very  happy  to  answer  your  letter 
before  this,  but  a  succession  of  engagements,  some  of  them  of  a  painful 
kind,  have  made  it  impossible.  Even  now  I  can  do  very  little  more  than 
congratulate  you  on  being  able  to  spend  a  year  at  such  a  place,  and  to 
suggest  that  very  general '  made  inrtute,'  which  serves  only  to  express 
good  wishes  without  doing  anything  to  help  realize  them.  I  should  be 
embarrassed,  if  I  were  in  your  situation,  to  know  exactly  what  to  do.  The 
study  of  a  profession  is  a  prescribed  and  necessary  course,  —  that  of  gen- 
eral literature,  or  of  literature  preparatory  to  our,  or  to  any  profession,  is, 
on  the  other  hand,  so  limitless,  —  so  indeterminate,  —  so  much  a  matter 
of  taste,  —  it  depends  so  much  on  the  intellectual  and  moral  traits  of  the 
student,  what  he  needs  and  what  he  ought  to  shun,  that  an  educated 
young  man  can  really  judge  better  for  himself  than  another  for  him, 

"  As  immediately  preparatory  to  the  study  of  the  Law^,  I  should  follow 
the  usual  suggestion,  to  review  thoroughly  English  history,  —  Constitu- 
tional history  in  Hallam  particularly,  and  American  Constitutional  and 
Civil  history  in  Pitkin  and  Story.  Rutherford's  Institutes  and  the  best 
course  of  Moral  Philosophy  you  can  find,  will  be  very  valuable  introduc- 
tory consolidating  matter.  Aristotle's  Politics,  and  all  of  Edmund  Bui'ke's 
works,  and  all  of  Cicero's  works,  would  form  an  admirable  course  of 
reading,  '  a  library  of  eloquence  and  reason,'  to  form  the  sentiments  and 
polish  the  tastes,  and  fertilize  and  enlarge  the  mind  of  a  young  man  as- 
piring to  be  a  lawyer  and  statesman.  Cicero  and  Burke  I  would  know 
by  heai't ;  both  superlatively  great — the  latter  the  greatest,  living  in  a 
later  age,  belonging  to  the  modern  mind  and  genius,  though  the  former 
had  more  power  over  an  audience,  —  both  knew  everything. 

"  I  would  read  every  day  one  page  at  least,  —  more  if  you  can,  —  in 
some  fine  English  writer,  solely  for  elegant  style  and  expression.  Wil- 
liam Pinkney  said  to  a  friend  of  mine  '  he  never  read  a  fine  sentence  in 
any  author  without  committing  it  to  memory.'  The  result  was  decidedly 
the  most  splendid  and  most  powerful  English  spoken  style  I  ever  heard. 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  have  written  so  hurriedly  in  the  midst  of  a  trial,  but 
I  preferred  it  to  longer  silence.  Accept  my  best  wishes,  and  assure 
yourself  I  am  Very  truly  yours, 

"  R.  Choate." 

Subsequently,  when  Mr.  Storrs  decided  to  abandon  the 
study  of  law  for  a  theological  course,  Mr.  Choate  wrote 
him :  — 

"My  dear  Sir,  —  I  have  just  received  your  letter  and  hasten  to 
say  that  I  have  been  much  interested  by  it.     The  enti7-e  result  has  been 


48  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  III. 

much  as  I  anticipated ;  and,  all  considerations  of  duty  apart,  I  am  in- 
clined to  think  as  a  mere  matter  of  rational  happiness,  —  happiness  from 
books,  culture,  the  social  affections,  the  estimation  of  others,  and  a  sense 
of  general  usefulness  and  of  consideration,  you  have  chosen  wisely.  Duty, 
however,  I  think  was  clear,  and  when  it  is  clear  it  is  peremptory. 

"  I  should  not  accept  a  fee,  of  course,  under  such  circumstances,  but 
shall  expect  you  to  send  me  all  the  sermons  you  print,  and  that  they  be 
good  ones.  I  am  very  truly 

"■  Your  friend  and  serv't, 

"  RuFus  Choate. 
"  Senate  Chamber, 

"  30th  March" 

In  1841,  Mr.  Webster  havinoc  accepted  the  office  of  Secre- 
tary of  State  under  General  Harrison,  it  became  necessary 
for  the  Legislature  of  Massachusetts  to  elect  another  Senator 
to  fill  his  place.  The  position  was  botli  delicate  and  difficult. 
The  public  wishes  soon  pointed  to  Mr.  Choate,  and  his  friends 
proceeded  to  consult  him  about  the  matter.  The  offer  was 
at  first  met  by  a  decided  refusal,  nor  was  it  until  after  re- 
repeated  interviews,  and  the  greatest  urgency,  that  he  finally 
permitted  his  name  to  be  brought  before  the  Legislature,  and 
then  only  with  the  express  understanding  that  he  should  be 
allowed  to  resign  the  place  within  two  or  three  years.  The 
causes  of  this  reluctance  to  accept  so  high  and  honorable  and 
attractive  an  office  were  probably  many  and  complicated. 
His  natural  modesty,  a  distaste  for  the  annoyances  of  public 
life,  a  loathing  of  political  schemers,  plans  of  study  and  achieve- 
ment with  which  public  duties  would  interfere,  the  necessity 
of  an  income,  the  love  of  personal  independence,  —  all  these 
undoubtedly  influenced  his  judgment. 

Before  taking  his  seat,  the  new  Senator  was  called  upon  to 
deliver  a  eulogium  upon  the  lamented  President,  in  Faneuil 
Hall.  It  was  a  sincere  and  eloquent  tribute  to  one  whom  the 
nation  loved  as  a  man  even  more  than  it  respected  as  a  Presi- 
dent. General  Harrison  was  inaugurated  on  the  4th  of  March, 
1841.  He  died  on  the  4th  of  April,  before  having  had  time  to 
establish  distinctly  the  policy  of  the  administration,  but  having 
summoned  an  extra  session  of  Congress  to  meet  on  the  Slst 
of  May.  The  Vice-President,  Mr.  Tyler,  immediately  assumed 
the  duties  of  the  Presidency,  not  without  solicitude  on  the 
part  of  the  Whigs,  with  whom  he  had  not  always  been  identi- 
fied, but  yet  with  prevailing   hopes.     "  The  President,"   says 


1841-1843.]  FIRST   SPEECH  IN   THE   SENATE.  49 

Mr.  Choate  in  a  letter  shortly  after  reaching'  Washington,  "  is 
in  high  spirits, —  making  a  good  impression.  He  will  stand  hy 
Mr.  Webster,  and  the  talk  of  an  unfriendly  conservative  action 
is  tnie^  but  not  terrifying." 

Mr.  Choate's  first  speech  in  the  Senate  was  upon  a  subject 
on  which  the  public  mind  in  some  parts  of  the  country  had 
been  deeply  agitated,  and  which  involved  difficult  questions  of 
international  law.  It  was  the  case  of  Alexander  M'Leod, 
charged  with  burning  the  Steamer  Caroline.  This  forward 
and  boastful  person,  who  seems  not  to  have  been  engaged  at 
all  in  the  exploit  in  which  he  had  professed  to  be  a  prominent 
actor,  having  ventured  into  the  State  of  New  York,  was  ar- 
rested on  an  indictment  found  against  him  shortly  after  the 
destruction  of  the  boat,  and  held  for  trial  by  the  State  Courts. 
The  British  Government  assumed  the  act,  by  whomsoever  done, 
as  its  own,  and  through  its  minister,  Mr.  Fox,  demanded  the 
release  of  the  prisoner.  This  demand  could  not  be  complied 
with,  since  the  prisoner  was  arraigned  before  the  State  Courts ; 
but  the  Attorney-General  of  the  United  States,  Mr.  Crittenden, 
under  the  direction  of  Mr.  Webster,  then  Secretary  of  State, 
was  sent  to  observe  the  trial  and  render  such  assistance  as 
should  be  proper  and  necessary.  The  subject  w^as  brought 
before  Congress  by  the  message  of  the  President,  when  the 
policy  of  the  Government,  and  especially  the  instructions  and 
letter  of  Mr.  Webster,  were  severely  censured  by  Mr.  Ben- 
ton, Mr.  Buchanan,  and  Mr.  Calhoun,  and  defended  by  Mr. 
Rives,  Mr.  Choate,  Mr.  Huntington,  and  Mr.  Preston.  In 
the  House,  the  administration  was  sustained  with  great  ability 
by  John  Quincy  Adams,  and  Mr.  Cushing.  The  speech  of 
Mr.  Choate  called  forth  warm  commendations  from  all  parties. 
"  It  was  the  first  appearance  of  the  Senator  in  debate  here," 
said  Mr.  Buchanan,  in  his  reply,  "  and,  judging-  of  others  by 
myself,  I  must  say,  that  those  who  have  listened  to  him  once 
will  be  anxious  to  hear  him  again." 

It  was  during  this  extra  session,  when  Mr.  Choate  was  quite 
new  to  the  Senate,  that  a  slight  collision  took  place  between 
himself  and  Mr.  Clay,  the  nature  and  importance  of  which 
were,  perhaps  intentionally,  exaggerated  by  the  party  news- 
papers. Mr.  Clay  was  the  leader  of  the  Whigs  in  the  Sen- 
ate, flushed  with  success,  urgent  of  favorite  measures,  some- 


50  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  III. 

what  distrustful  of  the  new  President,  Mr.  Tyler,  and  excited 
by  a  report  of  the  formation  of  a  new  party  in  opposition  to 
his  interests.  The  finances  of  the  country  had,  for  several 
years,  been  much  deranged,  and  the  great  immediate  objects 
of  the  Whigs,  on  coming  into  power,  were  the  repeal  of  the 
Independent  Treasury  Acts,  the  reestablishing,  in  some  form, 
of  a  National  Bank,  and  an  adequate  provision  for  the  public 
revenue.  The  first  of  these  objects  was  accomplished  with- 
out difficulty  or  delay.  The  bill  for  the  purpose  passed  the 
Senate  and  the  House  by  large  majorities,  and  was  at  once 
approved  by  the  President.  The  second  object,  the  incorpora- 
tion of  a  bank,  was  a  more  delicate  and  difficult  matter.  Mr. 
Tyler  vi^as  known  to  be  opposed  to  the  old  United  States 
Bank,  though  it  was  thought  that  a  charter  might  be  framed 
to  which  he  would  have  no  objection.  Accordingly  Mr.  Clay, 
early  in  the  session,  moved  a  call  upon  the  Secretary  of  the 
Treasury,  Mr.  Ewing,  for  the  plan  of  a  bank.  It  was  given, 
and  coming  from  such  a  source,  was  presumed  to  be  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  ideas  of  the  President.  Upon  this  report  a 
bill  was  modelled.  To  this  bill  Mr.  Rives  of  Virginia  offered 
an  amendment,  —  which  he  supported  by  an  able  argument,  — 
making  the  assent  of  the  States  necessary  for  the  establishment 
of  branches  within  their  limits.  Mr.  Clay  earnestly  opposed 
the  proposition,  and  Mr.  Preston  with  equal  earnestness  sus- 
tained it.  On  the  next  day  Mr.  Choate  made  a  short  speech 
in  favor  of  Mr.  Rives's  amendment,  not  because  he  doubted 
the  constitutionality  of  the  bill  as  reported  by  the  committee, 
but  mainly  from  considerations  of  policy. 

"  I  do  not  vote  for  the  bill,"  he  said,  "  from  any  doubt  of  the 
constitutional  power  of  Congress  to  establish  branches  all  over 
the  States,  possessing  the  discounting  function,  directly  and  ad- 
versely against  their  united  assent.  I  differ  in  this  particular 
wholly  from  the  Senator  who  moves  the  amendment.  I  have 
no  more  doubt  of  your  power  to  make  such  a  bank  and  such 
branches  anywhere,  than  of  your  power  to  build  a  post-office  or 
a  custom-house  anywhere.  This  question  for  me  is  settled, 
and  settled  rightly.  I  have  the  honor  and  happiness  to  concur 
on  it  with  all,  or  almost  all,  our  greatest  names;  with  our  na- 
tional judicial  tribunal,  and  with  both  the  two  great  original 
political  parties ;  with  Washington,  Hamilton,  Marshall,  Story, 


1841-1843.]  AMENDMENT   TO   BANK   BILL.  51 

Madison,  Monroe,  Crawford,  and  with  the  entire  RepubHcan 
administration  and  ore^anization  of  1816  and  I8I7. 

"  But  it  does  not  follow,  because  we  possess  this  or  any  other 
power,  that  it  is  wise  or  needful,  in  any  given  case,  to  attempt 
to  exert  it.  We  may  find  ourselves  so  situated  that  we  cannot 
do  it  if  we  would,  for  want  of  the  concurrence  of  other  judg- 
ments ;  and  therefore  a  struggle  might  be  as  unavailing  as  it 
would  be  mischievous  and  unseemly.  We  may  find  ourselves 
so  situated  that  we  ought  not  to  do  it  if  we  could.  All  things 
which  are  lawful  are  not  convenient,  are  not  practicable,  are 
not  wise,  are  not  safe,  are  not  kind.  A  sound  and  healing 
discretion,  therefore,  the  moral  coercion  of  irresistible  circum- 
stances, may  fitly  temper  and  even  wholly  restrain  the  exercise 
of  the  clearest  power  ever  belonging  to  human  government." 

He  then  proceeded  to  state  his  reasons  for  voting  for  the 
amendment.  The  first  was,  that  the  country  greatly  needed 
the  bank,  and  in  his  opinion  that  result  would  be  much  sooner 
and  more  surely  reached  by  admitting  the  bill  as  amended. 
"  By  uniting  here  on  this  amendment,"  he  said,  "  you  put  an 
effective  bank  in  operation,  to  some  useful  and  substantial 
extent,  by  the  first  of  January.  Turn  now  to  the  other  alter- 
native. Sir,  if  you  adhere  to  the  bill  reported  by  the  Com- 
mittee, I  fully  believe  you  pass  no  bank  charter  this  session. 
I  doubt  wdiether  you  carry  it  through  Congress.  If  you  can, 
I  do  not  believe  you  can  make  it  a  law.  I  have  no  doubt  you 
will  fail  to  do  so.  I  do  not  enter  on  the  reasons  of  iDy  belief. 
The  rules  of  orderly  proceeding  here,  decorum,  pride,  regret, 
would  all  prevent  my  doing  it.  1  have  no  personal  or  private 
grounds  for  the  conviction  which  holds  me  fast;  but  I  judge 
on  notorious,  and  to  my  mind,  decisive  indications ;  and  I 
know  that  it  is  my  duty  to  act  on  my  belief,  whether  well  or 
ill  founded,  and  however  conjecturally  derived." 

Another  reason  assigned  for  his  vote  was  that  it  would  lead 
to  united  counsels  and  actions. 

"  In  a  larger  view  of  the  matter,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "  is  it 
not  in  a  high  degree  desirable  to  make  such  a  charter,  that 
while  it  secures  to  the  people  all  that  such  kind  of  instrumen- 
tality as  a  bank  can  secure,  we  may  still,  in  the  mode  and 
details  of  the  thing,  respect  the  scruples  and  spare  the  feelings 
of  those  who,  just  as  meritoriously,  usefully,  and  conspicuously 


52  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IH. 

as  yourselves,  are  members  of  our  political  association,  but  who 
differ  with  you  on  the  question  of  constitutional  power  1  If  I 
can  improve  the  local  currency,  diffuse  a  sound  and  uniform 
national  one,  facilitate,  cheapen,  and  systematize  the  exchanges, 
secure  the  safe-keeping"  and  transmission  of  the  public  money, 
promote  commerce,  and  deepen  and  multiply  the  springs  of  a 
healthful  credit  by  a  bank,  and  can  at  the  same  time  so  do  it  as 
to  retain  the  cordial  constant  cooperation,  and  prolong  the  pub- 
lic usefulness  of  friends  who  hold  a  different  theory  of  the 
Constitution,  is  it  not  just  so  much  clear  gain  1  I  was  struck, 
in  listening  to  the  senator  from  Virginia  yesterday,  with  the 
thought,  how  idle,  how  senseless  it  is  to  spend  time  in  deplor- 
ing or  being  peevish  about  the  inveterate  constitutional  opin- 
ions of  the  community  he  so  ably  represents.  There  the 
opinions  are.  What  will  you  do  with  them  1  You  cannot 
change  them.  You  cannot  stride  over  or  disregard  them. 
There  they  are  ;  what  will  you  do  with  them  ?  Compromise 
the  matter.  Adjust  it,  if  you  can,  in  such  sort  that  they  shall 
neither  yield  their  opinions,  nor  you  yield  yours.  Give  to  the 
people  all  the  practical  good  which  a  bank  can  give,  and  let 
the  constitutional  question,  whether  Congress  can  make  a  bank 
by  its  own  power  or  not,  stand  over  for  argument  on  the  last 
day  of  the  Greek  Kalends,  when  the  disputants  may  have  the 
world  all  to  themselves  to  wrangle  it  out  in  !  Yes,  Sir,  com- 
promise it„  Our  whole  history  is  but  a  history  of  compro- 
mises. You  have  compromised  in  larger  things ;  do  it  in 
less,  do  it  in  this.  You  have  done  it  for  the  sake  of  the 
Union  ;  do  it  for  the  sake  of  the  party  which  is  doing  it  for 
the  sake  of  the  Union.  You  never  made  one  which  was 
received  with  wider  and  sincerer  joy  than  this  would  be.  Do 
it  then.  Do  as  your  fathers  did  when  they  came  together, 
delegates  from  the  slave  States,  and  delegates  from  the  free, 
representatives  of  planters,  of  mechanics,  of  manufacturers, 
and  the  owners  of  ships,  the  cool  and  slow  New  England 
men,  and  the  mercurial  children  of  the  sun,  and  sat  down  side 
by  side  in  the  presence  of  Washington,  to  frame  this  more 
perfect  Union.  Administer  the  Constitution  in  the  temper 
that  created  it.  Do  as  you  have  yourselves  done  in  more  than 
one  great  crisis  of  your  affairs,  when  questions  of  power  and 
of  administration  have  shaken  these  halls  and  this  whole  coun- 


1841-1843.]  SPEECH  ON  BANK  BILL.  ^Q 

try,  and  an  enlarged  and  commanding  spirit,  not  yet  passed 
away  from  our  counsels,  assisted  you  to  rule  the  uproar,  and 
to  pour  seasonable  oil  on  the  rising  sea.  Happy,  thrice 
happy,  for  us  all,  if  the  senator  from  Kentucky  would  allow 
himself  to-day  to  win  another  victory  of  conciliation." 

"  Let  me  say,  Sir,"  he  went  on  after  a  brief  intervening 
statement  on  the  nature  of  the  amendment,  "  that  to  admin- 
ister the  contested  powers  of  the  Constitution  is,  for  those  of 
you  who  believe  that  they  exist,  at  all  times  a  trust  of  diffi- 
culty and  delicacy.  I  do  not  know  that  I  should  not  venture 
to  suggest  this  general  direction  for  the  performance  of  that 
grave  duty.  Steadily  and  strongly  assert  their  existence  ;  do 
not  surrender  them  ;  retain  them  with  a  provident  forecast ; 
for  the  time  may  come  when  you  will  need  to  enforce  them  by 
the  whole  moral  and  physical  strength  of  the  Union  ;  but  do 
not  exert  them  at  all  so  long  as  you  can  by  other  less  offensive 
expedients  of  wisdom,  effectually  secure  to  the  people  all  the 
practical  benefits  which  you  believe  they  were  inserted  into  the 
Constitution  to  secure.  Thus  will  the  Union  last  longest,  and 
do  most  good.  To  exercise  a  contested  power  without  neces- 
sity, on  a  notion  of  keeping  up  the  tone  of  government,  is  not 
nmch  better  than  tyranny,  and  very  improvident  and  impolitic 
tyranny,  too.  It  is  turning  '  extreme  medicine  into  daily 
bread.'  It  forgets  that  the  final  end  of  government  is  not  to 
exert  restraint,  but  to  do  good. 

"  Within  this  general  view  of  the  true  mode  of  administering 
contested  powers,  I  thhik  the  measure  we  propose  is  as  wise 
as  it  is  conciliatory ;  wise  because  it  is  conciliatory ;  wise 
because  it  reconciles  a  strong  theory  of  the  Constitution  with 
a  discreet  and  kind  administration  of  it.  I  desire  to  give  the 
country  a  bank.  Well,  here  is  a  mode  in  which  I  can  do  it. 
Shall  I  refuse  to  do  it  in  that  mode  because  I  cannot  at  the 
same  time  and  by  the  same  operation  gain  a  victory  over  the 
settled  constitutional  opinions,  and  show  my  contempt  for  the 
ancient  and  unappeasable  jealousy  and  prejudices  of  not  far 
from  half  of  the  American  people  ^  Shall  I  refuse  to  do  it  in 
that  mode  because  I  cannot  at  the  same  time  and  by  the  same 
operation  win  a  triumph  of  constitutional  law  over  political 
associates  who  agree  with  me  on  nine  in  ten  of  all  the  ques- 

5* 


54  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  III. 

tions  which  divide  the  parties  of  the  country ;  whose  energies 
and  eloquence,  under  many  an  October  and  many  an  August 
sun,  have  contributed  so  much  to  the  transcendent  reformation 
which  has  brought  you  into  power '? 

"  There  is  one  consideration  more  which  has  had  some  in- 
fluence in  determining  my  vote.  I  confess  that  I  think  that  a 
bank  established  in  the  manner  contemplated  by  this  amend- 
ment stands,  in  the  actual  circumstances  of  our  time,  a  chance 
to  lead  a  quieter  and  more  secure  life,  so  to  speak,  than  a 
bank  established  by  the  bill.  I  think  it  worth  our  while  to 
try  to  make,  what  never  yet  was  seen,  a  popular  National 
Bank,  Judging  from  the  past  and  the  present,  from  the  last 
years  of  the  last  bank,  and  the  manner  in  which  its  existence 
was  terminated  ;  from  the  tone  of  debate  and  of  the  press,  and 
the  general  indications  of  public  opinion,  I  acknowledge  an 
apprehension  that  such  an  institution,  —  created  by  a  direct  ex- 
ertion of  your  power,  throwing  off  its  branches  without  regard 
to  the  wishes  or  wants  of  the  States,  as  judged  of  by  them- 
selves, and  without  any  attempt  to  engage  their  auxiliary  co- 
operation, diminishing  the  business  and  reducing  the  profits  of 
the  local  banks,  and  exempted  from  their  burdens,  —  that  such 
an  institution  may  not  find  so  quiet  and  safe  a  field  of  opera- 
tion as  is  desirable  for  usefulness  and  profit.  I  do  not  wish  to 
see  it  standing  like  a  fortified  post  on  a  foreign  border  —  never 
wholly  at  peace,  always  assailed,  always  belligerent ;  not  falling 
perhaps,  but  never  safe,  the  nurse  and  the  prize  of  unappeas- 
able hostility.  No,  Sir.  Even  such  an  institution,  under  con- 
ceivable circumstances,  it  might  be  our  duty  to  establish  and 
maintain  in  the  face  of  all  opposition  and  to  the  last  gasp. 
But  so  much  evil  attends  such  a  state  of  things,  so  much  inse- 
curity, so  much  excitement ;  it  would  be  exposed  to  the  pelting 
of  such  a  pitiless  storm  of  the  press  and  public  speech ;  so 
many  demagogues  would  get  good  livings  by  railing  at  it; 
so  many  honest  men  would  really  regard  it  as  unconstitutional, 
and  as  dangerous  to  business  and  liberty,  —  that  it  is  worth 

an  exertion  to  avoid  it Sir,  I  desire  to  see  the  Bank 

of  the  United  States  become  a  cherished  domestic  institution, 
reposing  in  the  bosom  of  our  law  and  of  our  attachments.  Es- 
tablished by  the  concurrent  action  or  on  the  application  of  the 
States,  such  might  be  its  character.     There  will  be  a  strug- 


1841-1843.]  COLLISION   WITH  MR.    CLAY.  55 

gle  on  the  question  of  admitting  the  discount  power  into  the 
States ;  much  good  sense  and  much  nonsense  will  be  spoken 
and  written  ;  but  such  a  struggle  will  be  harmless  and  brief, 
and  when  that  is  over,  all  is  over.  The  States  which  exclude 
it  will  hardly  exasperate  themselves  further  about  it.  Those 
which  admit  it  will  soothe  themselves  with  the  consideration 
that  the  act  is  their  own,  and  that  the  existence  of  this  power 
of  the  branch  is  a  perpetual  recognition  of  their  sovereignty. 
Thus  might  it  sooner  cease  to  wear  the  alien,  aggressive,  and 
privileged  aspect  which  has  rendered  it  offensive,  and  become 
sooner  blended  with  the  mass  of  domestic  interests,  cherished 
by  the  same  regards,  protected  by  the  same  and  by  a  higher 
law. 

It  was  during  this  speech  that  Mr.  Clay,  who  had  left  his 
own  seat,  and  through  the  courtesy  of  a  younger  member,  had 
taken  another  nearer  Mr.  Choate,  rose  and  interrupted  the 
speaker  with  an  inquiry  as  to  the  grounds  of  his  knowledge 
that  the  Bank  Bill  would  not  pass  without  the  amendment. 
The  intimacy  of  Mr.  Choate  with  Mr.  Webster,  then  Secre- 
tary of  State,  gave  a  weight  to  his  words,  and  the  implica- 
tion in  Mr.  Clay's  question  evidently  was,  that  he  had  derived 
his  knowledge,  directly  or  indirectly  from  the  President  him- 
self. In  a  subsequent  part  of  the  discussion,  Mr.  Archer,  in 
opposing  the  amendment  of  Mr.  Rives,  took  occasion  to  ex- 
press his  regret  that  the  Senator  from  Kentucky  had  endeav- 
ored to  draw  from  Mr.  Choate  the  opinions  of  the  Executive. 
Mr.  Clay  rose  to  explain,  and  this  led  to  a  sharp  interlocutory 
debate  between  himself  and  Mr.  Choate,  which  ended  by  Mr. 
Clay's  interrupting  Mr.  Choate  in  the  midst  of  an  explanation, 
and  saying  "  That,  Sir,  is  not  the  thing.  Did  you  not  say 
that  you  could  not,  without  breach  of  privilege  and  violation 
of  parliamentary  rule,  disclose  your  authority  ?  "  "  Sir,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Choate,  "  I  insist  on  my  right  to  explain  what  I  did 
say  in  my  own  words."  Mr.  Clay  persisted  in  requesting  a 
direct  answer,  and  Mr.  Choate  replied  again,  "  that  he  would 
have  to  take  the  answer  as  he  chose  to  give  it  to  him."  The 
parties  were  here  called  to  order,  and  the  President  requested 
both  gentlemen  to  take  their  seats.  That  Mr.  Clay  in  this, 
bringing  all  the  weight  of  his  experience,  age,  character,  and 

I  Appendix  to  Congressional  Globe,  July,  1841,  pp.  355,  356. 


56  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IH. 

long-  public  life  to  bear  upon  a  member  of  his  own  party,  new 
to  the  Senate,  and  not  yet  practically  familiar  with  its  usages, 
should  have  seemed  overbearing  and  arrogant,  was  unavoidable, 
and  it  might  have  justified  a  sharper  retort  than  was  given. 
I  have  been  informed  by  those  who  were  present  that  the  im- 
pression in  the  senate  chamber  was  much  less  than  it  was 
represented  by  the  newspapers,  especially  by  those  opposed  to 
Mr.  Clay  and  the  Whig  party.  But  whatever  may  have  been 
the  feeling  of  the  moment,  at  the  meeting  of  the  Senate  on 
the  next  day,  Mr.  Clay  with  great  magnanimity  and  earnest- 
ness denied  the  intention  which  had  been  imputed  to  him,  and 
disclaimed  entirely  the  design  of  placing  the  Senator  from 
Massachusetts  in  a  questionable  position.  Many  who  were 
present  were  struck  with  the  nobleness  of  the  apology,  and 
Mr.  Choate,  of  all  men  the  most  gentle  and  placable,  went 
round  to  Mr.  Clay  who  sat  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  cham- 
ber, and  made  open  demonstration  of  reconciliation. 

Another  matter  which  interested  Mr.  Choate  very  much 
during  this  session  was  the  confirmation  of  Mr.  Everett  as 
Minister  to  England.  The  nomination,  which  was  regarded 
by  all  right-minded  people  as  one  of  the  most  appropriate  that 
could  be  made,  was  fiercely  assailed  on  account  of  an  opinion 
which  Mr.  Everett  had  once  given  in  favor  of  the  right  and 
duty  of  Congress  to  abolish  slavery  in  the  District  of  Columbia, 
He  was  charged  with  being  an  "  abolitionist,"  a  word  of  indefi- 
nite but  fearful  import.  Mr.  Choate  felt  that  the  rejection  of 
a  minister  on  grounds  so  intangible,  so  untenable,  and  so  inad- 
equate, would  be  for  the  disgrace  of  the  country,  and  he  ex- 
erted himself  to  the  utmost  to  prevent  such  a  result.  Those 
who  heard  his  principal  speech  in  favor  of  the  nomination  con- 
sidered it  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  eloquent  ever  delivered 
within  the  walls  of  the  senate  chamber.-^ 

A  member  of  the  Senate  who  was  present  during  the  debate, 
in  a  letter  written  to  Mr.  Choate  many  years  afterwards,  thus 
recalls  the  scene :  "  My  dear  Sir,  Mr.  Buchanan's  nomina- 
tion brings  up  some  reminiscences  of  you  and  of  him,  which 
are  by  no  means  pleasant  to  me,  now  that  there  is  a  possibility 
he  may  be  President.     I  refer,  of  course,  to  the  lead  he  took 

1  There  arc  no  remains  of  this  speech,  which  was  delivered  in  executive  ees- 
sion,  with  closed  doors. 


1841-1843.]  LETTER   TO    CHARLES    SUMNER.  ^^ 

on  one  side  and  you  on  the  other,  in  the  debate  which  preceded 
Mr.  Everett's  confirmation  as  Minister  to  London.  I  well 
remember  the  cogency  and  splendor  of  your  argument,  and  the 
emotion  it  raised  in  Preston,  who,  completely  overpowered  by 
the  conviction  to  which  you  brought   him,  exclaimed,  boiling 

with  excitement,   '  I  shall  have  to  vote  "  No,"  but  by he 

shall  not  be  rejected.'^  With  all  my  admiration  for  your 
effort,  the  whole  scene  was  deeply  painful  and  humiliating  to 
me,  more  so  probably  than  to  any  man  in  the  chamber.  I 
was  indignant  beyond  the  power  of  language  at  the  require- 
ment of  the  South,  that  the  nomination  should  be  voted  down, 
and  the  nominee  branded  as  unfit  to  represent  his  country  at 
the  British  Court,  simply  and  solely  because  he  had  replied  to 
the  question  put  to  him,  that  Congress  might  and  ought  to 
abolish  slavery  in  the  District  of  Columbia.  B.'s  hostility  was 
vindictive  and  savage.  He  distinctly  and  emphatically  de- 
nounced Mr.  E.  as  an  '  abolitionist,'  for  this  and  this  only, 
disclaiming  all  opposition  to  him  as  a  Whig,  or  as  otherwise 
objectionable." 

Mr.  Clay  made  a  powerful  speech  in  favor  of  the  nomina- 
tion, and  said  that  if  it  was  rejected,  there  would  never  be 
another  President  of  the  United  States.  A  familiar  letter  to 
Mr.  Sumner,  then  prominent  among  the  younger  members  of 
the  Whig  party,  alludes  to  this  among  other  things.  Though 
without  date,  (for  this  was  one  of  the  points  of  a  letter  about 
which  Mr.  Choate  was  habitually  careless,)  it  must  have  been 
written  in  September  1841,  Congress  adjourning  on  the  ISth 
of  that  month,  and  the  Senate  not  confirming  the  nomination 
till  very  near  the  close  of  the  session. 

To  Charles  Sumner,  Esq. 

"  Washington. 

"]My  dear  Sumner, —  I  have  just  received  the  memorandum,  and 
will  turn  it  nocturna  et  diurna  mcmii, —  to  quote  obscure  and  unusual 
Latin  words.  I  hope  it  will  do  your  friend's  business,  and  the  Pope's, 
and  England's,  and  the  lone  Imperial  mother's  —  as  you  say. 

"  Mr.  Webster  is  so  much  excited  (and  contidentially,  gratified)  with  the 
squaboshment  of  the  Whigs  -  that  he  will  talk  of  nothing  else.  He  thinks 
he  can  seal  better  with  Sir  Robert  Peel  et  id  genus.  Can  he  ?  Your 
acquaintance  was  made  with  so  whiggish  a  set,  that  I  suppose  you  mourn 

1  I   have  understood    that    Colonel     gretted  any  vote  he  had  given  as  he 
Preston,  when  afterwards  on  a  visit  to     did  that  against  Mr.  Everett. 
Boston,  told  a  friend  that  he  never  re-        2  Lord  Slelbourne's  ministry. 


58  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  in. 

as  for  the  flight  of  liberty.  But  mark  you,  how  much  more  peaceably, 
purely,  intellectually,  did  this  roaring  democracy  of  ours  change  its  whole 
government  and  whole  policy,  last  fall,  than  England  has  done  it  now, 

"  Yes,  Everett's  is  a  good  appointment.  Ask  me  when  I  get  home,  if 
we  did  not  come  near  losing  him  in  the  Senate  from  Abolitionism,  ; — entre 
nous,  —  if  we  do,  the  Union  goes  to  pieces  like  a  potter's  vessel.  But  as 
Ercles'  vein  is  not  lightly  nor  often  to  be  indulged  in,  —  (jiec  Deus  in- 
tersit  nisi,  &c.,)  —  I  give  love  to  Hillard,  salute  you,  and  am  very  truly 

"  Yours, 

"  RuFus   Choate." 

"  P.  S.  —  We  shall  have  a  veto  after  all,  ut  timeo." 

The  veto,  the  second  veto,  was  sent  in  September  9,  and 
Congress  adjourned  the  13th. 

A  few  letters  to  his  son,  then  about  seven  years  old,  and  at 
school  in  Essex,  will  show  the  affectionate,  playful,  yet  earnest 
character  of  his  intercourse  with  his  children. 

To  RuFus  Choate,  Jr. 

"  Washington,  30  May,  1841. 

"  My  dear  Son,  —  It  is  just  a  week  to-day  since  I  kissed  you  a  good- 
by,  and  now  I  am  five  hundred  miles,  or  nearly  so,  from  you.  I  feel 
quite  sad  to  think  of  it ;  and  if  I  did  not  suppose  you  were  a  good  boy, 
and  at  the  head,  and  going  on  fast  with  the  Latin,  I  should  feel  still 
worse.  But  I  hope  you  love  books  better  and  better  every  day.  You 
will  learn  one  of  these  days  who  it  is  that  says,  '  Come,  my  best  friends, 
my  books.'  I  suppose  you  have  no  roses  yet  at  Essex,  or  green  peas,  or 
mown  grass — though  you  used  to  say  that  you  saw  everything  there 
nearly.  Here,  the  whole  city  is  in  blossom.  They  are  making  hay; 
and  rose-bushes  bend  under  their  loads  of  red  and  white  roses.  Can  you 
tell  nov/,  by  your  geography,  why  the  season  is  so  much  earlier  here  than 
at  Essex  —  especially  considering  what  a  handsome  place  Essex  is,  and 

what  a  good  school  you  go  to,  and  how  much  pains  cousin  M takes 

with  you  ?  You  must  answer  this  question  in  your  letter  to  me,  and 
think  all  about  it  yourself. 

"  I  hope  you  will  write  to  your  mother  and  the  girls  often.  They  all 
love  you  dearly,  and  want  to  hear  from  you  every  day.  Besides,  it  does 
one  good  to  sit  down  and  write  home.     It  fills  his  heart  full  of  affection 

and  of  pleasant  recollections Write  me  soon. 

"  Your  affectionate  father, 

"  RuFus  Choate." 

To  RuFus  Choate,  Jr. 

"  My  dear  Rdfus,  —  Your  mother  and  dear  sisters  have  you  so  far 
away,  that  I  want  to  put  my  own  arm  around  your  neck,  and  having 
whispered  a  little  in  your  ear,  give  you  a  kiss.  I  hope,  first,  that  you 
are  good ;  and  next  that  you  are  well  and  studious,  and  among  the  best 
scholars.  If  that  is  so,  I  am  willing  you  should  play  every  day,  after,  or 
out  of,  school,  till  the  blood  is  ready  to  burst  from  your  cheeks.     There 


1841-1843.]  LETTERS   TO   HIS  CHILDREN.  59 

is  a  place  or  two,  according  to  my  recollections  of  your  time  of  life,  in 
the  lane,  where  real,  good,  solid  satisfaction,  in  the  way  of  play,  may  be 
had.     But  I  do  earnestly  hope  to  hear  a  great  account  of  your  books  and 

progress  when  I  get  home.     Love  cousin  M ,  and  all  your  school  and 

playmates,  and  love  the  studies  Avhich  will  make  you  wise,  useful,  and 
happy,  when  there  shall  be  no  blood  at  all  to  be  seen  in  your  cheeks 
or  lips. 

"  Your  explanation  of  the  greater  warmth  of  weather  here  than  at 
Essex,  is  all  right.  Give  me  the  sun  of  Essex,  however,  I  say,  for  all 
this.  One  half  hour,  tell  grandmother,  under  those  cherished  button- 
woods,  is  worth  a  month  under  these  insufferable  fervors I  hope 

I  shall  get  home  in  a  month.  Be  busy,  affectionate,  obedient,  my  dear, 
only  boy.  Your  father, 

"E.UFUS  Choate." 

Every  letter  to  his  children  at  this  period  is  replete  with 
affection,  and  kind  suggestions  and  hopes.  "  Do  not  play 
with  bad  boys.  Love  good  ones.  Love  your  teacher,  and 
see  if  you  cannot  go  to  the  head  of  your  own  age  of  boys. 
....  I  expect  to  find  all  of  you  grown.  If  I  find  the  beau- 
tifid  feelings,  and  bright  minds  grown  too,  I  shnll  leap  for 

joy Give  my  love  to  all.     Tell  only  truth  ;   and  be 

just,  kind,  and  courageous.      Good-by,  my  darling  boy." 

And  again  to  two  of  his  children  :  "  I  hope  you  are  well, 
obedient,  affectionate,  and  studious.  You  must  learn  to  take 
care  of  yourselves  alone,  —  your  clothes,  books,  the  place  you 
sleep  in,  and  of  all  your  ways.  Be  pleasant,  brave,  and  fond 
of  books.     I  want  to  hear  that  you  are  both  good  scholars, 

but  chiefly  that  you  are  true,  honest,  and  kind Give 

best  love  to  all  at  Essex.  Go,  especially,  and  give  my  love  to 
grandmother,  who  was  the  best  of  mothers  to  your  father, 
and  help  her  all  you  can." 

The  next  session  of  Congress  opened  with  considerable 
apprehension  and  distrust  in  all  minds.  The  Whigs  had 
broken  with  the  President,  and,  though  powerful,  were  dis- 
heartened, and  unable  to  accomplish  their  cherished  purposes. 
At  the  same  time,  questions  of  great  public  importance  were 
pressing  upon  the  attention  of  the  government.  During  the 
session  Mr.  Choate  spoke  on  the  Bankrupt  Law,  in  favor  of 
Mr.  Clay's  Resolution  for  Retrenchment  and  Reform,  on  the 
Naval  Appropriation  Bill,  on  the  Tariff",  and  on  the  Bill  to 
provide  further  Remedial  Justice  in  the  Courts  of  the  United 
States.     This  last  named  bill  was  introduced  by  Mr.  Berrien, 


60  MEMOIR  OF   EUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  III. 

then  Chairman  of  the  Judiciary  Committee,  in  order  to  meet 
such  cases  as  that  of  McLeod's,  by  extending  the  jurisdiction 
of  the  United  States  Courts.  It  was  regarded  as  of  very 
great  consequence,  so  nearly  had  the  nation  been  plunged  into 
war  by  proceedings  for  which  the  general  government  could 
have  no  responsibility.  The  bill  was  supported  by  the  Whigs 
generally,  and  opposed  by  the  Democrats,  under  the  lead  of 
Mr.  Buchanan.  Mr.  Choate  supported  it  on  the  two  grounds 
of  constitutionality  and  of  expediency,  and  closed  a  generous 
and  statesmanlike  yet  severe  argument  in  these  words :  — 
"  The  honorable  senator  is  against  your  jurisdiction  in  all 
forms  and  in  all  stages.  Sir,  I  cannot  concm*  with  him.  I 
would  assert  the  jurisdiction,  on  the  contrary,  on  the  same 
grand,  general  reason  for  which  it  was  given  to  you.  It  was 
given  as  a  means  of  enabling  you  to  preserve  honorable  peace, 
or  to  secure  the  next  best  thing,  a  just  war  —  a  war  into 
which  we  may  carry  the  sympathies,  and  the  praise,  and  the 
assistance  of  the  world.  Accept  and  exert  it  for  these  great 
ends.  Do  not  be  deterred  from  doing  so,  and  from  doing  so 
now,  by  what  the  honorable  senator  so  many  times  repeated  to 
you,  that  negotiations  are  pending  with  England ;  that  she 
has  insulted  and  menaced  you,  and  withheld  reparation,  and 
withheld  apology  ;  and  that  therefore,  the  passage  of  the  bill, 
at  this  moment,  would  be  an  unmanly  and  unseasonable  cour- 
tesy or  concession  to  her.  How  much  England  knows  or 
cares  about  the  passage  of  this  bill ;  what  new  reason  it  may 
afford  to  the  Foreign  Quarterly  Review  for  predicting  the 
approach  of  his  monarchical  millennium  in  America,  we  need 
not,  I  believe  no  one  here  need,  know  or  care.  But  does 
it  mark  unmanly  fear  of  England,  an  unmanly  haste  to  pro- 
pitiate her  good-will,  because  I  would  commit  the  quiet  and 
the  glory  of  my  country  to  you  ?  Where  should  the  peace  of 
the  nation  repose  but  beneath  the  folds  of  the  nation's  flag  I 
Do  not  fear  either,  that  you  are  about  to  undervalue  the  learn- 
ing, abilities,  and  integrity  of  the  State  tribunals.  Sir,  my 
whole  life  has  been  a  constant  experience  of  their  learning, 
abilities,  and  integrity  ;  but  I  do  not  conceive  that  I  distrust 
or  disparage  them,  when  I  have  the  honor  to  agree  with  the 
Constitution  itself,  that  yours  are  the  hands  to  hold  the  mighty 
issues  of  peace  and  war. 


1841-1843.]  SPEECH   ON   THE   BANK  BILL.  61 

"  Mr.  President,  how  strikingly  all  things,  and  every  pass- 
ing hour,  illustrate  the  wisdom  of  those  great  men  who  looked 
to  the  Union, — the  Union  under  a  general  government,  for  the 
preservation  of  peace,  at  home  and  abroad,  between  us  and  the 
world — among  the  States  and  in  each  State.  Turn  your  eyes 
eastward  and  northward,  and  see  how  this  vast,  but  restrained 
and  parental  central  power  holds  at  rest  a  thousand  spirits, 
a  thousand  elements  of  strife  !  There  is  Maine.  How  long 
would  it  be,  if  she  were  independent,  before  her  hardy  and 
gallant  children  would  pour  themselves  over  the  disputed  ter- 
ritory like  the  flakes  of  her  own  snow-storms  ?  How  long,  if 
New  York  were  so,  before  that  tumultuous  frontier  would 
blaze  with  ten  thousand  '  bale-fires  ? '  Our  own  beautiful  and 
beloved  Rhode  Island  herself,  with  which  the  Senator  rebukes 
you  for  interfering, — is  it  not  happy  even  for  her  that  her  star, 
instead  of  shining  alone  and  apart  in  the  sky,  blends  its  light 
with  so  many  kindred  rays,  whose  influence  may  save  it  from 
shooting  madly  from  its  sphere  ^ 

"  The  aspect  which  our  United  America  turns  upon  foreign 
nations,  the  aspect  which  the  Constitution  designs  she  shall 
turn  on  them,  the  guardian  of  our  honor,  the  guardian  of 
our  peace,  is,  after  all,  her  grandest  and  her  fairest  aspect. 
We  have  a  right  to  be  proud  when  we  look  on  that.  Happy 
and  free  empress  mother  of  States  themselves  free,  unagitated 
by  the  passions,  unmoved  by  the  dissensions  of  any  one  of 
them,  she  watches  the  rights  and  fame  of  all,  and  reposing, 
secure  and  serene,  among  the  mountain  summits  of  her  free- 
dom, she  holds  in  one  hand  the  fair  olive-branch  of  peace, 
and  in  the  other  the  thunderbolt  and  meteor  flag  of  reluctant 
and  rightful  war.  There  may  she  sit  forever ;  the  stars  of 
union  upon  her  brow,  the  rock  of  independence  beneath  her 
feet !  Mr.  President,  it  is  because  this  bill  seems  to  me  well 
calculated  to  accomplish  one  of  the  chief  original  ends  of  the 
Constitution  that  it  has  my  hearty  support." 

A  few  extracts  from  private  letters  will  indicate  some  of  the 
other  topics  which  interested  him  during  the  session.  Janu- 
ary 24th  he  wrote  to  Mr.  Sumner :  "  Lord  Morpeth  is  come 
and  pleases  universally.  He  attends  our  atrocious  spectacles 
in  the  House  with  professional  relish."  And  a  little  later : 
"  I  have  received  and  transmitted  your  papers  for  Lieber ;  and 


Q2  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  III. 

read  the  D.  A.^  with  edification  and  assent.  We  are  wrong. 
Lieber  sent  me  a  strong  paper  on  the  same  subject.  He  is  the 
most  fertile,  indomitable,  unsleeping,  combative,  and  propa- 
gandizing person  of  his  race.  I  have  bought  '  Longfellow,'  and 
am  glad  to  hear  of  his  run.  Politics  are  unpromising,  but 
better  than  last  session.  The  juste  milieu  will  vindicate  it- 
self.    With  much  love  to  G.  S.  H. 

"  Yours  faithfully, 

"R.  Choate." 

On  the  IQth  February  he  writes  again :  "  My  dear  Sumner, 
I  hoped  to  be  able  before  now  to  tell  you  what  can  be  done 
for  that  elegant  and  tuneful  Professor.  No  certain  thing  do  I 
get  yet,  but  I  trust  soon  to  have.     It  is  the  age  of  patronage 

of  genius  you  see.     Regnat  Apollo^  as  one  may  say 

That  was  a  most  rich  speech  of  Hillard's,  as  is  all  his  speaking, 
whether  to  listening  crowds,  or  to  appreciating  circles   of  you 

and  me,'^ How  cheerful,  genial,  and  fragrant^  as  it 

were,  are  our  politics !  What  serried  files  of  armed  men, 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  keeping  time  to  the  music  of  duty  and 
glory,  animated  by  a  single  soul,  are  the  Whigs !  But  this 
delicious  winter  bears  us  stviftlg  through  it  all,  and  the  sun  of 
to-day  lights  up  the  Potomac  and  burns  with  the  flush  and 
glory  of  June.  Dexter  says  this  city  reminds  one  of  Rome. 
I  suppose  he  meant  in  its  spaces,  solitudes,  quiet,  vices,  etc.,  — 
though  the  surrounding  country  is  undoubtedly  beautiful.  Love 
to  Hillard.  Lieber  writes  in  Latin.  I  mean  to  answer  him 
in  any  tongue  whatever  he  chooses  to  speak,  and  for  that  pur- 
pose must  break  off"  and  go  at  him. 

"  Truly  yours, 

"  R.  Choate." 

To  Charles  Sumner,  Esq. 

"  Washington,  June  5,  1842. 

"  My  dear  Sir,  —  I  mourn  that  I  cannot  get  you  yet  a  copy  of  the 
Opinions,  otherwise  called  Old  Fields.^    I  am  in  collusion  with  Tims,  how- 

1  The  subject  of  searching  vessels  on        ^  A  speech  of  Mr.  Hillard's  at  a  din- 

the  high  seas  was  then  widely  discussed,  ner  given  to  Mr.  Dickens. 
and  this  refers  to  some  articles  in  the         3  Opinions  of  the  Attorney-General, 

"  Boston  Daily  Advertiser,"  on  the  right  with  reference  to  which  Mr.  Sumner 

and  necessity,  in  certain  cases,  of  veri-  had  quoted  the  verses  of  Chaucer,  — 

fying  a  suspected  flag.  <■  Out  of  the  old  fields  cometh  all  this  new 

corn,"  &c. 


1841-1843.]     NORTH-EASTERN  BOUNDARY   QUESTION.  Qg 

ever ;  if  man  can  do  it  Tims  is  he.  I  have  never  got  one  for  myself,  or  I 
would  send  that.     I  send  you  my  speech,  so  that  if  you  do  not  "et  Ann 

Page,  you  however  have  the  great  lubberly  boy Lord  Ashburton 

is  a  most  interesting  man,  quick,  cheerful,  graceful-minded,  keen,  and  pru- 
dent. The  three  young  men  [his  suite]  are  also  clever ;  young  rather ; 
one  a  whig,  all  lovers  of  Lord  Morpeth.  Maine  comes  with  such  exact- 
ing purposes,  that  between  us,  I  doubt  .... 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  R.  Choate." 

Later  in  the  summer  he  writes  again  in  the  vein  of  humor 
and  playfuhiess  which  so  generally  characterized  his  familiar 
intercourse :  — 

"  Washington,  10  p.  m. 
"  Dear  Sumner  and  Hillard,  —  I  have  addressed  myself  with  tears 
of  entreaty  to  the  Secretary,  and  if  no  hidden  snag,  or  planter,  lies  under 
the  muddy  flood,  we  shall  scull  the  Dr.  into  port.     There,  as  Dr.  Watts 
says,  he  may 

'  Sit  and  sing  himself  away,' 

or  exclaim  — 

'  Spes  et  fortuna,  valete  —  inveni  nunc  portum, 
Lusistis  me  satis  —  ludite  nunc  alios  '  — 

which  is  from  the  Greek,  you  know,  in  Dalzell's  Gra^c.  Majora,  vol.  2d, 
—  and  closes  some  editions  of  Gil  Bias  ! 

"  The  voting  on  the  Ashburton  Treaty  at  9  at  night  —  seats  full,  — 
lights  lighted,  —  hall  as  still  as  death  —  was  not  without  grandness.  But 
why  speak  of  this  to  the  poco-curantes  of  that  denationalized  Boston  and 
Massachusetts.  Yours  truly, 

"  R.  Choate." 

Of  all  the  questions  of  foreign  policy  none  were  more  press- 
ing, on  the  accession  of  the  Whigs  to  the  government,  than 
the  North-Eastern  boundary.  Collisions  had  already  taken 
place  on  the  border.  British  regiments  had  been  sent  into 
Canada ;  volunteers  were  enrolled  in  Maine.  The  question 
seemed  hopelessly  complicated,  and  both  parties  were  appar- 
ently immovable  in  their  opinions.  On  assuming  the  Depart- 
ment of  State,  Mr.  Webster  at  once  informed  the  British 
government  of  our  willingness  to  renew  negotiations,  and 
shortly  after  the  accession  of  Sir  Robert  Peel  and  Lord  Aber- 
deen to  power,  Lord  Ashburton  was  sent  as  a  special  envoy 
to  the  United  States,  with  the  hope  of  settling  the  dangerous 
dispute.  On  both  sides  were  high  purposes,  a  willing  mind, 
and  a  determination,  if  possible,  to  settle  the  difficulty  to  the 
advantage  of  both  parties.     This  purpose  was  finally  accom- 


Q^  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  III. 

plished  ;  the  treaty  was  made  and  sigTied  by  the  respective 
Plenipotentiaries  on  the  9th  August,  184*2.  It  was  submitted 
to  the  Senate  on  the  11th  of  August,  and  finally  ratified  on 
the  20th  of  the  same  month  by  a  vote  of  39  to  9-  It  deter- 
mined the  North-Eastern  boundary ;  settled  the  mode  of  pro- 
ceeding for  the  suppression  of  the  African  Slave-Trade;  and 
agreed  to  the  extradition  of  criminals  fugitive  from  justice, 
in  certain  well-defined  cases.  At  the  same  time  the  irritating 
questions  connected  with  the  destruction  of  The  Caroline,  the 
mutiny  and  final  liberation  of  the  slaves  on  board  The  Creole, 
and  the  right  of  impressment,  were  put  at  rest  by  correspond- 
ence and  mutual  understanding.  Harmony  was  thus  re- 
stored between  two  great  nations ;  the  possibility  of  border 
forces  along  the  Canadian  boundary  greatly  diminished  ;  and 
the  rights  of  the  flag  upon  the  high  seas  rendered  more  exact 
and  definite.  The  question  of  the  boundary  of  Oregon  was 
left  undetermined,  because  the  arrangement  of  that  question 
seemed  not  to  be  practicable.  That  a  treaty  of  so  much  con- 
sequence, affecting  questions  that  had  so  long  interested  and 
irritated  the  nations,  should  meet  the  approbation  of  every 
senator,  was  not  to  be  expected.  It  was  assailed  at  great 
length,  and  with  what  might  be  thought  intemperate  violence, 
by  Mr.  Benton,  when  discussed  in  secret  session,  and  subse- 
quently during  the  next  session  of  Congress,  when  the  bill  for 
the  occupation  of  Oregon  was  under  debate.  He  found  fault 
with  what  it  did  and  with  v/hat  it  omitted  to  do,  with  the  spirit 
and  patriotism  of  its  American  negotiator,  Mr.  Webster,  and 
with  his  resoluteness  and  intelligence.  The  treaty  was  defended 
with  a  spirit  and  ability  equal  to  the  occasion.  Mr.  Choate 
spoke  three  times.  One  only  of  these  speeches  has  been  pre- 
served, that  delivered  on  the  3d  February  184<3,  during  the 
debate  on  the  bill  for  the  occupation  and  settlement  of  the  Ore- 
gon Territory. 

Congress  adjourned  on  the  3d  of  March,  and  Mr.  Choate 
returned  to  the  labors  of  his  profession  in  Boston. 

Since  Mr.  Choate's  death  there  have  been  found  among  his 
papers,  fragments  of  journals  and  translations  of  portions  of 
the  ancient  classics.  Although  these  were  prepared  solely  for 
his  own  benefit,  and  the  translations  seem  never  to  have  been 
revised,  it  has  been  thought  that  no  means  accessible  to  us 


1841-1843.]        JOURNAL   OF   READINGS   AND   ACTIONS.  Q^ 

can  so  fully  exhibit  some  of  his  mental  traits,  the  methods  by 
which  he  wrought,  and  the  results  which  he  gained.  Parts  of 
the  journals  are  accordingly  inserted  in  their  chronological  or- 
der, and  extracts  from  the  translations,  if  these  volumes  are 
not  too  crowded,  will  be  found  in  the  appendix. 

Leaves  op  an  Imperfect  Journal  of  Readings  and  Actions. 

"May,  1843.  —  I  can  see  very  clearly,  that  an  hour  a  day  might  with 
manifold  and  rich  usefulness  be  employed  upon  a  journal.  Such  a  jour- 
nal written  with  attention  to  language  and  style,  would  be  a  very  tolera- 
ble substitute  for  the  most  stimulating  and  most  improving  of  the  disci- 
plinary and  educational  exercises,  careful  composition.  It  should  not 
merely  enumerate  the  books  looked  into,  and  the  professional  and  other 
labors  performed  ;  but  it  should  embrace  a  digest,  or  at  least  an  index  of 
subjects  of  what  I  read ;  some  thoughts  suggested  by  my  reading ;  some- 
thing to  evince  that  an  acquisition  has  been  made,  a  hint  communicated ; 
a  step  taken  in  the  culture  of  the  immortal,  intellectual,  and  moral  na- 
ture ;  a  translation  perhaps,  or  other  effort  of  laborious  writing  ;  a  faith- 
ful and  severe  judgment  on  the  intellectual  and  the  moral  quality  of  all 
I  shall  have  done  ;  the  failure,  the  success,  and  the  lessons  of  both.  Thus 
conducted,  it  would  surely  be  greatly  useful.  Can  I  keep  such  an  one  ? 
Prorsus  ignoro — proisus  dubito.  Spero  tamen.  The  difficulty  has  been 
heretofore  that  I  took  too  little  time  for  it.  I  regarded  it  less  as  an  agent, 
and  a  labor  of  useful  influence,  in  and  by  itself, —  in  and  by  what  it  ex- 
acted, of  introspection,  memory,  revisal  of  knowledge  and  of  trains  of 
thought  ;  less  by  the  incumbent  work  of  taste,  expression,  accuracy, 
which  it  itself  imposed  and  constituted,  than  as  a  mere  bald  and  shrewd 
enumeration  of  labors,  processes,  and  other  useful  or  influential  things 
somewhere  else,  and  before  undergone.  Better  write  on  it  but  once  a 
week,  than  so  misconceive  and  impair  its  uses. 

"  I  do  not  know  any  other  method  of  beginning  to  realize  what  I  some- 
what vaguely,  yet  sanguinely,  hope  from  my  improved  journal,  than  by 
proceeding  to  work  on  it  at  once,  and  regularly  for  every  hour,  for  every 
half  hour  of  reading  which  I  can  snatch  from  business  and  the  law.  I 
have  a  little  course  for  instance  of  authors  whom  I  read  for  English 
words  and  thoughts,  and  to  keep  up  my  Greek,  Latin,  and  French.  Let 
me  after  finishing  my  day's  little  work  of  each,  record  here  what  I  have 
read,  with  some  observation  or  some  version.  I  am  sure  the  time  I  now 
give  to  one  would  be  better  spent,  if  equally  divided  between  him  and  this 
journal.  I  am  not  to  forget,  that  I  am,  and  must  be,  if  I  would  live,  a 
student  of  professional  forensic  rhetoric.  I  grow  old.  My  fate  requires, 
appoints,  that  I  do  so  StSao-Ko/xeros  —  arte  rhetoricd.  ^  A  wide  and  anxious 
survey  of  that  art  and  that  science  teaches  me  that  careful  constant  writ- 
ing is  the  parent  of  ripe  speech.  It  has  no  other.  But  that  writing  must 
be  always  rhetorical  writing,  that  is,  such  as  might  in  some  parts  of  some 
speech  be  uttered  to  a  listening  audience.  It  is  to  be  composed  as  in  and 
for  the  presence  of  an  audience.     So  it  is  to  be  intelligible,  perspicuous, 

1  TrjpuaKu  6'  aid  ■noTika  didaoKoiievog,  —  a  fragment  from  Solon. 
6  * 


66  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  Ill- 

pointed,  terse,  with  image,  epithet,  turn,  advancing  and  impulsive,  full  of 
generalizations,  maxims,  illustrating  the  sayings  of  the  wise.  I  have 
written  enough  to  satisfy  me  I  cannot  keep  this  journal ;  yet  seriously  do 
I  mean  to  try.  Those  I  love  best  may  read,  smile,  or  weep  when  I  am 
dead,  at  such  a  record  of  lofty  design  and  meagre  achievement !  yet  they 
will  recognize  a  spirit  that  '  endeavored  well.' 

"  Idth  May.  Read  in  Bloom.  G.  T.  Matth.  3  c.  11-17,  and  notes,  care- 
fully verifying  the  references.  I  believe  I  concur  with  him  in  every  ob- 
servation. Qu.  tamen  1.  If  /xe  is  not  the  object  of  a(/)es  as  avTov  is  of 
afjiirjo-iv  and  of  StcKwAuei/  ?  2.  Why  does  not  cu^us  qualify  dve/??/  ?  Yet 
I  think  the  sense  is,  that  the  whole  series  of  incidents  —  the  ascent  from 
the  water,  and  the  opening  of  the  heavens,  and  the  vision,  and  the  voice 

—  followed  in  the  order  I  have  enumerated  fast  and  close  upon  the  con- 
summation of  the  Baptism. 

"  3.  That  a  miracle  is  described,  the  apparent  opening  of  the  heavens, 
so  as  to  bring  to  the  eye  of  some  one,  as  from  above,  beyond,  within,  the 
image,  form,  symbol,  the  Holy  Spirit,  descending,  with  the  hovering 
motion  of  the  dove  ;  and  that  an  articulate  proclamation  of  the  Sonship, 
and  the  love  and  the  complacency  indulged  towards  that  son,  by  the  Invis- 
ible speaking  from  on  high,  is  asserted  by  the  evangelist,  no  one  can 
doubt. 

"4.  Does'^n.  5,  216-17,  describe  a  descent  or  a  hovering  at  all,  or 
only  contrast  a  progressive  horizontal  motion,  caused  and  attended  by  the 
moving  of  the  wings,  and  a  similar  motion  with  the  wings  at  rest  ?  Sem- 
ble  the  latter  only. 

"  I  read  the  French  of  the  same  verses,  and  the  German,  but  the  latter 
without  pi'ofit. 

"  I  reviewed — for  I  will  not  confess  I  had  never  read  —  Quintilian's  first 
chap,  of  book  10,  de  copia  verborum,  Rollin's  Latin  edition.  I  think  I  do 
not  over-estimate  the  transcendent  value  and  power,  as  an  instrument  of 
persuasive  speech,  of  what  may  be  comprehensively  described  as  the  best 
language  —  that  which  is  the  very  best  suited  to  the  exact  demand  of  the 
discourse  just  where  it  is  employed.  Every  word  in  the  language,  by 
turns,  and  in  the  circle  of  revolving  oratorical  exigencies  and  tasks,  be- 
comes precisely  the  right  07ie  word,  and  must  be  used,  with  one  exception, 
that  of  immodest  ones.     This  is  Quintilian's  remark,  [§  9]  exaggerated 

—  modo  eorum  qui  art.  prcec.  tradunt  —  yet  asserting  a  general  truth  of 
great  value,  the  immense  importance  of  a  strong  hold,  and  a  capacity  of 
easy  employment  of  all  the  parts  of  the  language  —  the  homely,  the  col- 
loquial, the  trite,  as  well  as  the  lofty,  the  refined,  the  ornamented,  and  the 
artistical  propriety  of  a  resolute  interchange  or  transition  from  one  to 
another. 

"  How  such  a  language  —  such  an  English  —  is  to  be  attained,  is  plain. 
It  is  by  reading  and  by  hearing,  —  reading  the  best  books,  hearing  the 
most  accomplished  speakers.  Some  useful  hints  how  to  read  and  how  to 
hear,  I  gather  from  this  excellent  teacher,  and  verify  by  my  own  ex- 
perience, and  accommodate  to  my  own  case. 

"  I  have  been  long  in  the  practice  of  reading  daily  some  first  class  Eng- 
lish writer,  chiefiy  for  the  copia  verborum,  to  avoid  sinking  into  cheap 
and  bald  fluency,  to  give  elevation,  energy,  sonorousness,  and  refinement, 


1841-1843.]     JOURNAL    OF   READINGS  AND  ACTIONS.  Qy 

to  my  vocabulary.  Yet  with  this  object  I  would  unite  other  and  higher 
objects,  —  the  acquisition  of  things,  —  taste,  criticism,  facts  of  biography, 
images,  sentiments.  Johnson's  Poets  happens  just  now  to  be  my  book, 
and  I  have  just  read  his  life  and  judgment  of  Waller. 

"  nth  May.  The  review  of  this  arduous  and  responsible  professional 
labor  suggests  a  reflection  or  two.  I  am  not  conscious  of  having  pressed 
any  consideration  farther  than  I  ought  to  have  done,  although  the  entire 
effort  may  have  seemed  an  intense  and  overwrought  one.  Guilty,  she 
certainly  appears,  upon  the  proof  to  have  been ;  and  I  can  discern  no 
trace  of  subornation  or  manufacture  of  evidence.  God  forgive  the  sub- 
orner and  the  perjured,  if  it  be  so !  I  could  and  should  have  prepared 
my  argument  beforehand  and  with  more  allusion,  illustration,  and  finish. 
Topics,  principles  of  evidence,  standards  of  probability,  quotations,  might 
have  been  much  more  copiously  accumulated  and  distributed.  There 
should  have  been  less  said  —  a  better  peroration,  more  dignity,  and  a 
general  better  phraseology. 

"  I  remark  a  disinclination  to  cross-examine,  which  I  must  at  once  cheek. 
More  discussion  of  the  importance  of  guarding  the  purity  of  married 
life  —  the  sufferings  of  the  husband  —  a  passage  or  two  from  Erskine  — 
should  have  been  set  off  against  the  passionate  clamor  for  pity  to  the 
respondent.     Whole  days  of  opportunity  of  preparation  stupidly  lost. 

"  I  have  read  nothing  since  Sunday  until  to-day  ;  and  to-day  only  a  page 
of  Greenleaf  on  Evidence,  and  a  half-dozen  lines  of  Greek,  Latin,  and 
French.  But  I  prepared  the  case  of  the  Ipswich  Man.  Co.  My  Greek 
was  the  fifth  book  of  the  Odyssey  —  163-170  —  the  extorted,  unantici- 
pated, and  mysterious  communication  —  unanticipated  by,  and  mysterious 
to,  him  —  of  Calypso  to  Ulysses  on  the  sea-shore,  in  which  she  bids  him 
dry  his  tears,  and  cease  to  consume  his  life  ;  for  at  length  she  will  consent 
to  assist  his  depai'ture  from  the  endearments  and  the  charms  whose  spell  on 
his  passions  was  foi'ever  broken.  There  is  no  peevishness  or  pettishness 
in  her  words  or  manner ;  but  pity,  and  the  bestowment  generously  of 
what  she  knows  and  feels  he  will  receive  as  the  one  most  comprehensive 
and  precious  object  of  desire. 

"  Saturday,  3d  June.  —  The  week,  which  closes  to-day,  has  not  been 
one  of  great  labor  or  of  much  improvement.  I  discussed  the  case  of 
Allen  and  the  Corporation  of  Essex,  under  the  pressure  of  ill  health  ; 
and  I  have  read  and  digested  a  half-dozen  pages  of  Greenleaf  on  Ev- 
idence, and  as  many  of  Story  on  the  Dissolution  of  Partnership.  Other 
studies  of  easier  pursuit,  nor  wholly  useless  —  if  studies  I  may  denom- 
inate them  —  I  have  remembered  in  those  spaces  of  time  which  one  can 
always  command,  though  few  employ.  The  pregnant  pages  in  which 
Tacitus  reports  the  conflicting  judgments  expressed  by  the  Romans 
concerning  Augustus,  upon  the  day  of  his  funeral ;  and  paints  the  scene 
in  the  Senate,  when  that  body  solicited  Tiberius  to  assume  the  imperial 
name  and  power ;  the  timid  or  politic  urgency  of  the  solicitation  ;  the 
solicitation  of  prayers ;  the  dignified,  distrusted,  unintelligible  terms  of 
the  dissembler's  reply ;  his  proposition  to  consent  to  undertake  a  part  of 
the  imperial  function,  and  the  incautious  or  the  subtle  inquiry  with  which 
Gallus  for  a  moment  spoiled  the  acting  of  the  player  in  the  iron  mask  — 


68  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  III. 

'  what  part  he  would  take '  —  I  have  read  for  Latin.  They  include  pp. 
14-17,  in  the  edition  of  Ernesti  and  Oberlin.  Observe,  Tacitus,  in  his 
own  person  paints  no  character  of  Augustus.  More  dramatically  he  sup- 
poses a  multitude  to  witness  the  funeral,  and  then  to  speak  among  them- 
selves of  his  character  and  actions.  By  the  intelligent,  he  says,  a  divided 
opinion  of  his  life  was  expressed.  It  was  applauded  by  some  ;  it  was 
arraigned  by  others.  The  former  found  in  filial  piety,  and  in  those  neces- 
sities of  state  which  silenced  and  displaced  and  superseded  the  laws,  the 
only  motives  that  compelled  him  to  take  up  the  arms  of  civil  war ;  arms 
which  can  neither  be  acquired  nor  wielded,  by  the  exercise  of  the  purer 
and  nobler  arts  of  policy.  While  he  had  his  father's  murderers  to  pun- 
ish, he  conceded  a  large  measure  of  supreme  power  to  Antony  and  to 
Lepidus ;  but  after  the  latter  had  grown  an  old  man  by  sloth,  and  the 
former  had  become  debauched  and  ruined  by  self-indulgence,  there  re- 
mained no  remedy  for  his  distracted  country  but  the  government  of  one 
man.  Yet  that  government  was  wielded,  not  under  the  name  of  king  or 
of  dictator,  but  under  that  of  prince.  It  had  been  illustrated,  too,  by 
policy  and  fortune.  The  empire  had  been  fenced  and  guarded  on  all 
sides  by  great  rivers  and  the  sea.  Legions,  fleets,  provinces,  however 
widely  separated  from  each  other,  were  connected  by  a  system  and  order 
of  intercommunication  and  correspondence.  The  rights  of  citizens  had 
been  guarded  by  the  law  ;  moderation  and  indulgence  had  been  observed 
towards  the  allies.  Rome  itself  had  been  decorated  with  taste  and  splen- 
dor. Here  and  there  only,  military  force  had  been  interposed,  to  the  end 
that  everywhere  else  there  might  be  rest. 

"  I  cannot  to-day  pursue  the  version  farther.  In  Greek  I  have  reached 
the  two  hundred  and  fifty-first  line  of  the  fifth  Odyssey.  Without  preach- 
ing and  talk  by  the  poet,  as  in  Fenelon's  celebrated  work,  how  the  actions 
and  speech  of  Ulysses  show  forth  his  tried,  sagacious  character.  His 
suspicion  of  Calypso,  and  his  exaction  of  an  oath  that  she  means  fair  in 
thus  suddenly  permitting  him  to  go ;  his  addi'ess  in  allowing  the  superi- 
ority of  her  chai'ms  to  Penelope's,  and  putting  forwai'd  rather  the  general 
passion  for  getting  home,  as  his  motive  of  action ;  his  avowal  that  he  is 
prepared  to  endure  still  more  of  the  anger  of  God,  having  endured  so 
much,  mark  the  wary,  much-suffering,  and  wise  man,  sailor,  and  soldier. 
I  read  in  French  a  dissertation  in  the  Memoirs  of  the  Academie  of  In- 
scriptions, vol.  2  ;  on  the  Chronology  of  the  Odyssey ;  began  one  on 
Cicero's  Discovery  of  the  Tomb  of  Archimedes.  For  English  I  have 
read  Johnson's  Lives  to  the  beginning  of  Dryden ;  Alison,  a  little ; 
Antony  and  Cleopatra,  a  little  ;  Quintilian's  Chapters  on  Writing,  and 
on  Extempore  Speech,  I  have  read  and  re-read ;  but  mean  to-morrow  to 
abridge  and  judge.  I  need  a  Facciolatus  and  a  Stephens.  Preserve  me 
from  such  temptation.  The  first  I  must  get ;  and  so  I  close  this 
Saturday. 

"  I  propose  now  to  present  in  a  condensed  view  all  the  good  sense 
in  Quintilian's  chapters  on  Writing,  and  on  Extempore  Speech.  [Ch. 
I.]  —  He  is  treating  of  the  means  of  acquiring  copiousness  of  speech, 
and  has  disposed  of  the  first  of  these  means  —  the  reading  of  good 
books  —  of  authors  or  of  orators.  [Ch.  III.,  §  1.] — 'This  is  a  help 
from  without.     But  of  all  the  parts  of  self-education,  the  most  laborious, 


1841-1843.]      JOURNAL    OF   READINGS    AND   ACTIONS.  gQ 

most  useful,  is  writing.  This,  says  Cicero,  not  extravagantly,  best 
produces,  and  is  emphatically  the  master  of  speech.  [§  2. J  —  "Write 
then  with  as  much  pains  as  possible,  and  write  as  much  as  possible.  In 
mental  culture,  as  in  the  culture  of  the  earth,  the  seed  sown  in  the  deep- 
est furrow  finds  a  more  fruitful  soil,  is  more  securely  cherished,  and 
springs  up  in  his  time  to  more  exuberant  and  healthful  harvests.  With- 
out this  discipline,  the  power  and  practice  of  extemporaneous  speech  will 
yield  only  an  empty  loquacity  —  only  words  born  on  the  lips.  [§  3.]  — 
In  this  discipline,  deep  down  there  are  the  roots,  there  the  foundations ; 
thence  must  the  harvest  shoot,  thence  the  structure  ascend;  there  is 
garnered  up,  as  in  a  more  sacred  treasury,  wealth  for  the  supply  of  even 
unanticipated  exactions.  Thus,  first  of  all,  must  we  accumulate  resources 
sufficient  for  the  contests  to  which  we  are  summoned,  and  inexhaustible 
by  them.  [§  4.]  —  Nature  herself  will  have  no  great  things  hastily 
formed ;  in  the  direct  path  to  all  beautiful  and  conspicuous  achievement 
she  heaps  up  difficulty ;  to  the  largest  animal  she  appoints  the  longest 
sleep  in  the  parent  womb. 

" '  Two  inquiries  there  are  then  :  first  how,  next  what  we  shall  write. 
[§  5.]  I  begin  with  the  first,  and  urge  that  you  compose  with  care,  even 
if  you  compose  ever  so  slowly.  Seek  for  the  best ;  do  not  eagerly  and 
gladly  lay  hold  on  that  which  first  offers  itself;  apply  judgment  to  the 
crowd  of  thoughts  and  words  with  which  your  faculties  of  invention  sup- 
ply you  ;  retain  and  set  in  their  places  those  only  which  thus  you  delib- 
erately approve.  For  of  words  and  of  things  a  choice  is  to  be  made,  and 
to  that  end  the  weight  of  every  one  to  be  exactly  ascertained. 

"  Tuesday,  6fh  June.  —  '  The  taste  of  selection  accomplished,  that  of  col- 
location follows.  Do  not  leave  every  word  to  occupy  as  a  matter  of  course 
the  exact  spot  where  the  order  of  time  in  which  it  occurs  to  you  would 
place  it ;  do  not  let  the  succession  of  their  birth  necessarily  determine 
their  relative  position.  Seek  rather  by  variety  of  experiment  and  ar- 
rangement to  attain  the  utmost  power,  and  the  utmost  harmony  of  style. 
[§  6.]  The  more  successfully  to  accomplish  this,  practise  the  repeated 
reading  over  of  what  you  have  last  written  before  you  write  another  sen- 
tence, ^y  this  means  a  more  perfect  coherence  of  what  follows  with 
what  precedes ;  a  more  coherent  and  connected  succession  of  thought  and 
of  periods  will  be  expected  ;  and  by  this  means  too  the  glow  of  mental 
conception,  which  the  labor  of  writing  has  cooled,  will  be  kindled  anew ; 
and  will,  as  it  were,  acquire  fresh  impetus  by  taking  a  few  steps  backward ; 
as  in  the  contest  of  leaping  we  frequently  remark  the  competitors  setting 
out  to  run  at  an  increased  distance  from  the  point  where  they  begin  to 
leap,  and  thus  precipitating  themselves  by  the  impulse  of  the  race  tow- 
ards the  bound  at  which  they  aim  ;  as  in  darting  the  javelin  we  draw 
back  the  arm  ;  and  in  shooting  with  the  bow  draw  back  its  string.' 

"I  have  written  only  this  translation  of  Quintilian  since  Saturday. 
Professional  engagements  have  hindered  me.  But  I  have  carefully  read 
a  page  or  two  of  Johnson's  Dryden,  and  a  scene  or  two  of  Antony  and 
Cleopatra  every  moi-ning  —  marking  any  felicity  or  available  peculi- 
arity of  phrase  —  have  launched  Ulysses  from  the  isle  of  Calypso,  and 
brought  him  in  sight  of  Phoeacia.  Kept  along  in  Tacitus,  and  am  read- 
ing a  pretty  paper  in  the  "  Memoirs "  on  the  old  men  of  Homer.     I 


yO  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  III. 

read  Homer  more  easily  and  with  more  appreciation,  though  with  no 
helps  but  Cowper  and  Donegan's  Lexicon.  Fox  and  Canning's  Speeches 
ai'e  a  more  professional  study,  not  useless,  not  negligently  pursued.  Alas, 
alas  !  there  is  no  time  to  realize  the  dilating  and  burning  idea  of  excel- 
lence and  eloquence  inspired  by  the  great  gallery  of  the  immortals  in 
which  I  walk  ! 

"  2Uh  June.  —  I  respire  more  freely  in  this  pure  air  of  a  day  of  rest. 
Let  me  record  a  most  happy  method  of  legal  study,  by  which  I  believe 
and  feel  that  I  am  reviving  my  love  of  the  law  ;  enlarging  ray  knowledge 
of  it ;  and  fitting  myself,  according  to  the  precepts  of  the  masters,  for  its 
forensic  discussions.  I  can  find,  and  have  generally  been  able  to  find,  an 
hour  or  two  for  legal  reading  beyond  and  beside  cases  already  under  in- 
vestigation. That  time  and  that  reading  I  have  lost,  no  matter  how.  I 
have  adopted  the  plan  of  taking  a  volume,  the  last  volume  of  Massachu- 
setts Reports,  and  of  making  a  full  brief  of  an  argument  on  every  ques- 
tion in  every  case,  examining  all  the  authorities,  finding  others,  and  care- 
fully composing  an  argument  as  well  reasoned,  as  well  expressed,  as  if  I 
were  going  to-morrow  to  submit  it  to  a  bench  of  the  first  of  jurists.^  At 
the  completion  of  each  argument,  I  arrange  the  propositions  investigated 
in  ray  legal  commonplace  book,  and  index  them.  Already  I  remark 
renewed  interest  in  legal  investigations ;  renewed  power  of  recalling, 
arranging,  and  adding  to  old  acquisitions  ;  increased  activity  and  attention 
of  mind  ;  more  thought ;  more  effort ;  a  deeper  image  on  the  memory  ; 
growing  facility  of  expression.  I  confess  delight  too,  in  adapting  thus 
the  lessons  of  the  great  teachers  of  rhetoric  to  the  study  of  the  law  and  of 
legal  eloquence. 

"  I  resume  Quintilian,  p.  399.  [§  7.]  '  Yet  I  deny  not  if  the  fair  wind 
freshly  blows,  that  the  sails  may  all  be  spread  to  catch  it.  But  have  a 
care  lest  this  surrender  of  yourself  to  the  spontaneous  and  headlong 
course  of  your  conceptions  do  not  lead  you  astray.  All  our  first  thoughts, 
in  the  moment  of  their  birth,  please  us,  or  we  should  never  write. 
[§  8.]  But  we  must  come  to  our  critical  senses  again ;  and  coolly  revise 
and  reconstruct  the  productions  of  this  suspicious  and  deceitful  facility. 
Thus  we  have  heai'd  that  Sallust  wrote ;  and  indeed  his  work  itself  re- 
veals the  labor.  Varius  tells  us  that  Virgil  too  composed  but  very  few 
verses  in  a  day. 

"  [§  9-]  '  The  condition  of  the  speaker  is  a  different  one  from  that  of 
the  author.  It  is  therefore  that  I  prescribe,  for  the  first,  preparatory 
written  exercises  of  the  future  speaker,  that  he  dwell  so  long  and  so  solic- 
itously upon  his  task.  Consider  that  the  first  great  attainment  to  be 
achieved  is,  excellence  of  writing.  Use  will  confer  celerity.  By  slow 
degrees  matter  will  more  easily  present  itself ;  words  will  answer  to  it ; 
style  will  follow  ;  all  things  as  in  a  well-ordered  household,  will  know, 
will  perform  their  functions.  [§  10.]  It  is  not  by  writing  rapidly  that 
you  come  to  write  well,  but  by  writing  well  you  come  to  write  rapidly.' 
Thus  far  Quintilian. 

"  I  read,  besides  my  lessons,  the  Temptation  in  Matthew,  Mark,  and 
Luke,  in  the  Greek  ;  and  then  that  grand  and  grave  poem  which  Milton  has 

1  This  plan  he  continued  down  to  the  end  of  his  life. 


1841-1843.]     JOURNAL   OF   READINGS   AND  ACTIONS.  71 

built  upon  those  few  and  awful  verses,  Paradise  Regained.  I  recof^nize 
and  profoundly  venerate  the  vast  poetical  luminary  '  in  this  more  rrieas- 
ing  light,  shadowy.'  Epic  sublimity  the  subject  excludes ;  the  anxious 
and  changeful  interests  of  the  drama  are  not  there  ;  it  su^o-ests  an  occa- 
sional recollection  of  the  Book  of  Job,  but  how  far  short  of  its  pathos, 
its  agencies,  its  voices  of  human  sorrow  and  doubt  and  curiosity ; 
and  its  occasional  unapproachable  grandeur ;  yet  it  is  of  the  most  sus- 
tained elegance  of  expression ;  it  is  strewn  and  burning  with  the  pearl 
and  gold  of  the  richest  and  loftiest  and  best-instructed  of  human  imagina- 
tions; it  is  a  mine  —  a  magazine,  '  horrent,'  blazing  with  all  weapons  of 
the  most  exquisite  rhetoric ;  with  all  the  celestial  panoply  of  truth,  reason, 
wisdom,  duty." 


J2  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS  CHOATE.  [Chap.  IV. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

1843-1844. 

Address  before  the  New  England  Society  of  New  York  —  Letter  to  Professor 
Bush  —  Letters  to  Charles  Sumner  —  Letter  to  his  Daughters  —  Speech  on 
Oregon  —  First  Speech  on  the  Tariff — Second  Speech  in  Reply  to  Mr. 
M'Duffee  —  Journal. 

The  twenty-eighth  Congress  met  on  the  4th  of  December, 
1843,  and  Mr.  Choate  removed  to  Washhigton  for  the  winter. 
In  the  latter  part  of  the  month  he  visited  New  York  for  the 
purpose  of  delivering  the  annual  oration  before  the  New  Eng- 
land Society  of  that  city.  The  theme  suggested  by  the  occa- 
sion was  one  which  seemed  always  to  have  a  fresh  interest  for 
him.  He  loved  to  dwell  upon  it.  In  lectures  and  addresses 
he  had  many  times  spoken  on  the  Puritan  character  and  his- 
tory, and  never  without  the  deepest  sympathy  and  heart-stir- 
ring emotion.  On  this  occasion  he  presented  the  Pilgrims, 
their  Age  and  their  Acts,  as  constituting  a  real  and  true  heroic 
period  in  the  history  of  this  republic.  "  We  have,"  he  said, 
"  a  specific  duty  to  perform.  We  would  speak  of  certain  val- 
iant, good,  and  peculiar  men,  our  fathers.  We  would  wipe 
the  dust  from  a  few  old,  plain,  noble  urns.  We  would  shun 
husky  disquisitions,  irrelevant  novelties,  and  small  display ; 
would  recall  rather  and  merely  the  forms  and  lineaments  of 
the  heroic  dead,  —  forms  and  features  which  the  grave  has 
not  changed,  —  over  which  the  grave  has  no  power  —  robed 
with  the  vestments  and  radiant  with  the  hues  of  an  assured  im- 
mortality." During  his  discussion  of  the  general  subject  he 
spoke  of  the  influences  affecting  the  minds  of  the  disciples  of 
the  Reformation  in  England,  during  the  residence  cf  many  of 
them  in  Geneva.  Touching  lightly  upon  the  impression  of 
the  material  grandeur  and  beauty  of  Switzerland,  he  turned  to 
the  moral  agents,  the  politics,  and  the  ecclesiastical  influences 
to  which   the  exiles  were   exposed.     "  In  the  giant  hand  of 


1843-1844.]  ADDRESS   IN   NEW    YORK. 


73 


guardian  mountains,  on  the  banks  of  a  lake  lovelier  than  a 
dream  of  the  Faery  land ;  in  a  valley  which  mio-ht  seem  hol- 
lowed out  to  enclose  the  last  home  of  liberty,  there  smiled  an 
independent,  peaceful,  law-abiding,  well-governed,  and  ])ros- 
perous  Commonwealth.  There  was  a  State  without  king  or 
nobles  ;  there  was  a  church  without  a  bishop  ;  there  was  a 
people  governed  by  grave  magistrates  which  it  had  elected, 
and  equal  laws  which  it  had  framed."  These  phrases,  "a 
State  without  a  king,"  "  a  church  without  a  bishop,"  were 
at  once  caught  up  and  spread  through  the  land.  They  be- 
came the  burden  of  popular  songs,  and  led  to  a  noteworthy 
discussion  of  the  principles  of  church  government  between 
tvi^o  eminent  divines,  —  an  Episcopalian  and  a  Presbyterian, 
—  of  New  York. 

The  entire  address  was  received  with  the  greatest  delight 
and  enthusiasm.  A  member  of  the  New  York  bar,  somewhat 
advanced  in  years,  and  cool  in  his  temperament,  said  "that  it 
was  different  in  kind  from  anything  they  ever  heard  in  New 
York  before.  It  came  upon  them  like  a  series  of  electric 
shocks,  and  they  could  not  keep  their  seats,  but  kept  clapping 
and  applauding  without  being  conscious  of  it." 

On  returning  to  Washington  he  wrote  to  his  friend  Profes- 
sor Bush,  who  had  recently  adopted  the  views  of  Swedenborg. 
Although  of  decided  theological  opinions  himself,  Mr.  Choate 
rarely  entered  upon  a  polemical  discussion  of  religious  topics, 
never  indeed  but  with  those  intimate  friends  with  whom  he 
sympathized  most  closely.  About  himself  he  never  chose  to 
talk,  and  those  who  indiscreetly  tried  to  probe  his  feelings, 
would  generally  find  themselves  turned  aside  with  what  would 
seem  the  most  consummate  art,  were  it  not  done  so  naturally, 
and  with  such  suavity  and  gentleness.  Hence  in  declining  a 
discussion,  and  in  saying  a  kind  word  of  the  opinions  of  others, 
he  sometimes  seemed  to  those  who  did  not  know  him,  indiffer- 
ent as  to  his  own. 

To  Professor  George  Busn. 

"  Washington,  January  7,  1844. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Bush,  —  I  grieve  that  I  did  not  see  you  at  New  York, 
were  it  but  to  have  united  in  a  momentary  objurgation  of  all  celebrations 
on  wet  days :  though  I  should  have  been  still  more  delighted  to  sit  down 
and  charm  out  of  their  cells  of  sleep  about  a  million  of  memories.     But 

VOL.  I.  7 


-^4  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IV. 

it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  you  could  possibly  be  present/  and  I  had  not 
an  instant  to  go  out  to  call  on  you.  I  have  known,  say  half  a  dozen  very 
able  men,  who  hold  Swedenborg  just  as  you  do.  Theophilus  Parsons  of 
Boston  is  one,  who  is  a  man  of  genius.  For  my  part,  I  know  him  not, 
and  have  a  timorous  disinclination  to  being  shocked,  waked,  or  stunned 
out  of  the  '  trivial  fond '  prejudices  and  implicit  takings  up  of  a  whole 
life.  But  it  is  your  privilege  to  be  a  seeker  for  truth,  with  pure  aims  and 
a  most  appi*eciating  eye  and  spirit.     Sit  mea  anima  cum  tud. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  R.  Choate." 

Beside  the  political  business  of  the  session,  Mr.  Choate  was 
much  interested  in  a  law  case  of  great  importance,  that  of 
Massachusetts  v.  Rhode  Island.  Mr.  Charles  Sumner  acted 
as  counsel  with  him  in  obtaining  and  preparing-  the  local 
proofs.     The  following  letter  refers  to  that  case :  ■ — 

To  Charles  Sumner,  Esq. 

"My  dear  Sumner,  —  I  thank  you  for  the  documents.  The  cause  is 
assigned  for  the  20th,  and  being,  as  Mr.  Justice  Catron  expressly  declared, 
a  case  of  "  Sovereign  States,"  it  has,  before  this  tribunal  of  strict  construc- 
tionists, a  terrified  and  implicit  precedence.  Great  swelling  words  of 
prescription  ought  to  be  spoken.  For  the  rest,  I  see  no  great  fertility  or 
heights  in  it.  Most  hurriedly  yours, 

"  Saturday,  5  p.  m.  R.  Choate." 


To  Charles  Sumner,  Esq. 

"  My  dear  Sumner,  —  I  have  written  by  this  mail  to  Mr.  Palfrey, 
Secretary  of  State,  to  send  me  instantly  certain  papers  for  Massachusetts 
V.  Rhode  Island.  May  I  entreat  you  to  go  as  soon  as  possible  to  the  State 
House,  see  my  letter,  and  aid  and  urge  its  objects.  You  will  know  the 
what  and  where,  and  a  mail  saved  is  all  one  as  it  were  a  kingdom  for 
a  horse. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  views,  —  excellent  and  seasonable.  I  will  speak 
them  to  the  court  so  that  they  shall  never  know  anything  else  again  as 
long  as  they  live.     Please  be  most  prompt.  Yours, 

"  R.  Choate. 

«  15th  Feb.     The  case  is  for  the  20th  ! ! " 


To  Charles  Sumner,  Esq. 

"  Saturday,  Feb.  17,  1844. 

"  My  dear  Sir,  —  To  my  horror  and  annoyance,  the  court  has  just 
continued  our  cause  to  the  next  term!     The  counsel  of  Rhode  Island 

1  At  the  New  England  Festival. 


1843-1844.]  LETTERS   TO    CHARLES    SUMNER.  -^5 

moved  it  yesterday,  as.signing  for  cause  that  the  court  was  not  full  ;  that 
the  Chief  Justice  could  not  sit  by  reason  of  ill  health  ;  Mr.  Justice  Story 
did  not  sit,"  and  there  was  a  vacancy  on  the  bench.  The  court  was  there- 
fore reduced  to  six  judges.     We  opposed  the  motion. 

"  To-day  Mr.  Justice  M'Lean  said  that  on  interchanging  views  they 
found  that  three  of  the  six  who  would  try  it,  have  formally,  on  the  ar^^u- 
ment  or  the  plea,  come  to  an  opinion  in  favor  of  Massachusetts,  and  that 
therefore  they  thought  it  not  proper  to  proceed.  If  Rhode  Island  should 
fail,  he  suggested,  she  might  have  cause  of  dissatisfaction. 

"  I  regret  this  result,  on  all  accounts,  and  especially  that  the  constant 
preparatory  labors  of  a  month,  are  for  the  present  wholly  lost.  I  had 
actually  withdrawn  from  the  Senate  Chamber  to  make  up  this  argument, 

which  may  now  never  be  of  any  use  to  anybody 

"  Yours, 
«  R.  Choate." 

To  Charles  Sumner,  Esq. 

"Feb.  1844. 
"  My  dear  Sumner,  —  All  the  papers  came  safe,  except  as  yet  the 
whole  volume  which  is  to  come  by  Harnden.  I  shall  print  the  useful,  — 
keep  all  safely  —  with  the  entire  file.  Some  of  them  are  very  good. 
The  continuance  of  the  cause  rendered  it  partially  to  be  regretted  that 
so  much  trouble  was  given.  But  it  is  better  to  close  the  printing  at  once. 
"  Please  thank  Dr.  Palfrey,  and  dry  his  and  Mr.  Felt's  tears.  I  knew 
it  would  be  like  defending  a  city  by  holding  up  upon  the  walls  against 
darts  and  catapults,  little  children,  images  of  gods,  cats,  dogs,  onions,  and 
all  other  Egyptian  theogonics,  —  but  better  so  than  to  be  taken. 

"  Yours  truly, 
"  R.  Choate." 

To  Charles  Sumner,  Esq. 

[No  date.] 

"  Dear  Sumner,  —  I  have  just  had  your  letter  read  to  me  on  a  half- 
sick  bed,  and  get  up  redolent  of  magnesia  and  roasted  apples,  to  embrace 
you  for  your  Burkeism  generally,  and  for  your  extracts  and  references. 
It  is  odd  that  I  have,  on  my  last  year's  brief,  a  passage  or  two  fi-om  him 
on  that  very  topic  which  he  appreciates  so  profoundly,  but  am  most  happy 
to  add  yours.  By  the  way,  —  I  always  admired  that  very  letter  in  Prior, 
if  it  is  the  same. 

"  I  hope  you  review  Burke  in  the  N.  A.,-  though  I  have  not  got  it  and 
you  do  not  say  so.  Mind  that  he  is  the  fourth  Englishman,  —  Shakspeare, 
Bacon,  Milton,  Burke.  I  hope  you  take  one  hundred  pages  for  the  arti- 
cle. Compare,  contrast,  with  Cicero,  —  both  knowing  all  things, — but 
God  knows  where  to  end  on  Burke.  No  Englishman  or  countryman  of 
ours  has  the  least  appreciation  of  Burke.  The  Whigs  never  forgave  the 
last  eight  or  ten  years  of  that  life  of  glory,  and  the  Tories  never  forgave 
what  preceded  ;  and  we  poor,  unidealized  democrats,  do  not  understand 

1  Because  belono;ine;  to  Massachusetts.  ^  North  American  Review. 


76  MEMOni   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IV. 

his  marvellous  English,  universal  wisdom,  illuminated,  omniscient  mind, 
and  are  afraid  of  his  principles.  What  coxcombical  rascal  is  it  that  thinks 
Bolingbroke  a  better  writer  ?  Take  page  by  page  the  allusions,  the  felic- 
ities, the  immortalities  of  truth,  variety,  reason,  height,  depth,  everything, 
—  Bolingbroke  is  a  voluble  prater  to  Burke  ! 

"  Amplify  on  his  letter  in  reply  to  the  Duke  of  Bedford.  How  mourn- 
ful, melodious,  Cassandra-like  !  Out  of  Burke  might  be  cut  50  Mack- 
intoshes, 175  Macaulays,  40  Jeffreys,  and  250  Sir  Robert  Peels,  and 
leave  him  greater  than  Pitt  and  Fox  together. 

"  I  seem  to  suppose  your  article  is  not  written,  —  as  I  hope  it  is.  God 
bless  you.  Yours  truly,  R.  C." 

To  HIS  Daughters. 

"  My  dear  Daughters  Three,  —  I  owe  you  so  many  letters,  that 
I  know  not  how  to  begin  to  pay.  I  thought  of  three  different  letters,  — 
one  to  each,  —  but  I  am  so  dreadfully  busy  that  I  could  not  achieve  such 
a  thing ;  so  I  put  my  arms  around  you  one  and  all,  and  make  one  kiss 
serve.  Sarah's  conundrum  is  tres  belle  and  tres  fine,  but  thrice  tres  easy. 
Is  it  not  the  letter  '  A  ? ' 

"  Picciola  is  so  famous  and  fine  that  I  am  glad  you  like  it  and  find  it 
easier.  I  am  reading  French  law-books  to  prepare  for  a  case.  Dear 
Minnie  writes  a  pretty  short  letter.  I  hope  the  girls  are  no  longer  X 
to  her  as  she  says.  Be  good,  sober  girls,  and  help  your  mother  in  all 
her  cares  and  works. 

"I  am  awfully  lonesome.  But  I  study  quite  well,  and  am  preparing  to 
argue  a  great  cause. 

"  It  is  extremely  cold.  Wi'ite  each  day  a  full  account  of  its  studies,  its 
events,  its  joys  and  sorrows  ;  and  any  new  ideas  you  have  acquired. 

"  Take  excellent  care  of  my  books.     Do  not  let  anything  be  lost. 

"  Coleridge  I  have ;  but  I  don't  think  you  would  understand  it.  Try 
however.     Kiss  your  dear  mother  for  me. 

"  Your  Affectionate  Father." 

Mr.  Choate  was  always  interested  in  naval  affairs,  and  ex- 
erted himself  during  this  session  to  secure  a  suitable  indem- 
nity for  the  officers  and  seamen  (or  their  widows  and  orphans), 
who  lost  their  property  by  wreck  of  United  States  vessels  of 
war. 

Another  question  received  still  more  attention. 

On  the  9th  of  January,  184^4^,  Mr.  Semple  of  Illinois  in- 
troduced a  resolution  requesting  the  President  to  give  notice 
to  the  British  Government  of  a  desire  on  the  part  of  the 
United  States  to  terminate  the  treaty  allowing  the  joint  occu- 
pation of  the  territory  of  Oregon.  Mr.  Choate  opposed  the 
resolution,  because  negotiation  on  the  subject  had  already  been 
invited,  and   to  pass   the   resolution   would    only  impede  the 


1843-1844.]  TARIFF   BILL.  n^ 

efforts  of  plenipotentiaries,  while  it  imperilled  the  interests  of 
the  United  States,  and  looked  towards  a  declaration  of  war. 
These  views  in  substance  were  maintained  by  the  Whi^s  gen- 
erally. They  were  opposed  by  the  opposite  party,  and  by  no 
one  more  ably  than  by  Mr.  Buchanan,  who  directed  his  arg^u- 
ment  mainly  against  the  speech  of  Mr.  Choate.  To  this  Mr. 
Choate  made  a  reply  on  the  19th  of  March,  expanding  and 
enforcing  his  previous  argument.  As  this  speech  will  be 
found  in  its  proper  place  in  these  volumes,  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  dwell  upon  it  further.  Two  days  after  its  delivery 
the  resolution  w^as  rejected  by  a  vote  of  twenty-eight  to 
eighteen. 

There  was  probably  no  subject  which  awakened  a  deeper  in- 
terest during  this  session,  or  called  out  a  greater  amount  of 
talent  in  discussion  than  the  tariff.  Soon  after  the  meeting  of 
Congress  Mr.  M'Duffie  asked  leave  to  introduce  a  bill  to  re- 
vive the  tariff"  of  1883.  On  this  more  than  twenty  senators, 
the  leaders  and  veterans  of  that  august  body,  spoke  at  different 
times,  most  of  them  with  elaborate  and  formal  argument,  and 
some  of  them  more  than  once.  Mr.  Choate  addressed  the 
Senate  first  on  the  13th  and  15th  of  April,  in  an  exhaustive 
historical  discussion  of  the  early  tariffs,  especially  showing 
that  that  of  1799  was  essentially  a  tariff  of  protection,  and 
deriving  from  this  a  general  argument  in  favor  of  a  protective 
policy  ;  enlivening  the  necessarily  dry  enumeration  of  individ- 
ual opinions,  and  the  details  of  an  old  subject,  by  occasional 
pleasantry,  and  sometimes  by  high  and  fervid  eloquence.  Mr. 
Benton  had  spoken  of  the  evils  of  an  irregular  policy.  "  Per- 
haps," replied  Mr.  Choate,  "  I  might  not  entirely  concur  with 
the  distinguished  senator  from  Missouri,  in  his  estimate  of  the 
magnitude  of  the  evil.  An  evil  it  no  doubt  is.  Sometimes,  in 
some  circumstances,  irregularity  would  be  an  intolerable  one. 
In  the  case  he  puts,  of  a  balloon  in  the  air,  '  now  bursting  with 
distention,  now  collapsing  from  depletion,'  it  would  be  greatly 
inconvenient.  But  all  greatness  is  irregular.  All  irregularity 
is  not  defect,  is  not  ruin.  Take  a  different  illustration  from 
that  of  the  balloon.  Take  the  New  England  climate  in  sum- 
mer ;  you  would  think  the  world  was  coming  to  an  end.  Cer- 
tain recent  heresies  on  that  subject  may  have  had  a  natural 
origin  there.     Cold  to-day,  hot  to-morrow ;  mercury  at  eighty 

7* 


yS  MEMOIR   OF    RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IV. 

degrees  in  the  morning,  with  a  wind  at  south-west,  and  in  three 
hours  more  a  sea-turn,  wind  at  east,  a  thick  fog  from  the  very- 
bottom  of  the  ocean,  and  a  fall  of  forty  degrees  of  Fahren- 
heit ;  now  so  dry  as  to  kill  all  the  beans  in  New  Hampshire, 
then  floods  carrying  off  the  bridges  and  dams  of  the  Penob- 
scot and  Connecticut ;  snow  in  Portsmouth  in  July,  and  the 
next  day  a  man  and  a  yoke  of  oxen  killed  by  lightning  in 
Rhode  Island,  —  you  would  think  the  world  was  twenty  times 
coming  to  an  end  !  But  I  don't  know  how  it  is  ;  we  go 
along ;  the  early  and  the  latter  rain  falls  each  in  his  season  ; 
seed  time  and  harvest  do  not  fail  ;  the  sixty  days  of  hot  corn 
weather  are  pretty  sure  to  be  measured  out  to  us  ;  the  Indian 
summer  with  its  bland  south-west  and  mitigated  sunshine  brings 
all  up  ;  and  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  November,  or  thereabout, 
being  Thursday,  three  millions  of  grateful  people,  in  meeting- 
houses, or  around  the  family  board,  give  thanks  for  a  year  of 
health,  plenty,  and  happiness.  All  irregularity,  whatever  the 
cause,  is  not  defect  nor  ruin." 

He  closed  with  a  word  for  Massachusetts,  which  had  been 
assailed  for  her  opinions.  "  Permit  me  to  say,  Sir,  that  you 
must  take  the  vStates  of  America  as  you  find  them.  All  of 
them  have  their  peculiarities;  all  have  their  traits;  all  have 
their  histories,  traditions,  characters.  They  had  them  before 
they  came  into  the  Union ;   they  will  have  them  after 

"  Rome  In  Tiber  melts,  and  the  wide  arch  of  the  ranged  empire  falls." 

South  Carolina  has  hers  ;  Massachusetts  has  hers.  She  will 
continue  to  think,  speak,  print,  just  what  she  pleases,  on  every 
subject  that  may  interest  the  patriot,  the  moralist,  the  Chris- 
tian. But  she  will  be  true  to  the  Constitution.  She  sat 
among  the  most  affectionate  at  its  cradle ;  she  will  follow — the 
saddest  of  the  procession  of  sorrow  —  its  hearse.  She  some- 
times has  stood  for  twenty  years  together  in  opposition  to  the 
general  government.  She  cannot  promise  the  implicit  politics 
of  some  of  her  neighbors.  I  trust,  however,  that  she  will 
not  be  found  in  opposition  to  the  next  administration.  I  have 
heard  that  once  her  Senate  refused  to  vote  thanks  for  a  victory 
for  which  her  people  had  shed  their  blood.  Sir,  you  must 
take  the  States  as  you  find  them  ;  you  must  take  her  as  you 
find  her.     Be  just  to  her,  and  she  will  be  a  blessing  to  you. 


1843-1844.]  DEBATE   ON   THE   TARIFF.  JQ 

She  will  sell  to  you  at  fair  prices,  and  on  liberal  credits  ;  she 
will  buy  of  you  when  England  and  Canada  and  the  West 
Indies  and  Ireland  will  not ;  she  will  buy  your  staples,  and 
mould  them  into  shapes  of  beauty  and  use,  and  send  them 
abroad  to  represent  your  taste  and  your  genius  in  the  ^reat 
fairs  of  civilization.  Something  thus  she  may  do,  to  set  upon 
your  brow  that  crown  of  industrial  glory  to  which  '  the 
laurels  that  a  Ctesar  reaps  are  weeds.'  More,  Sir,  more. 
Although  she  loves  not  war,  nor  any  of  its  works,  —  although 
her  interests,  her  morals,  her  intelligence,  are  all  against  it, — 
although  she  is  with  South  Carolina,  with  all  the  South,  on 
that  ground, —  yet,  Sir,  at  the  call  of  honor,  at  the  call  of  lib- 
erty, if  I  have  read  her  annals  true,  she  will  be  fouiul  stand- 
ing, where  once  she  stood,  side  by  side  with  you,  on  the  dark- 
ened and  perilous  ridges  of  battle.  Be  just  to  her,  —  coldly, 
severely,  constitutionally  just, —  and  she  will  be  a  blessing  to 
you." 

The  debate  closed  on  the  81st  of  May.  Mr.  M'Duffie,  as 
having  opened  the  discussion,  occupied  two  days  in  replying  to 
his  different  opponents.  His  hopes  of  carrying  the  bill,  if 
ever  entertained,  had  long  since  vanished ;  and  this  may  ac- 
count in  a  measure  for  the  unusual  tone  of  his  speech.  The 
iirst  portion  of  it  was  mainly  addressed  to  Mr.  Choate,  and 
charged  him  with  drawing  very  largely,  if  not  exclusively, 
upon  his  imagination  for  his  facts,  and  spinning  and  weaving 
a  web  "  about  the  texture  of  a  cobweb,  and  produced  very 
much  in  the  same  way."  He  asserted  that  he  gave  isolated, 
if  not  garbled,  extracts  from  the  speeches  of  members  of 
the  first  Congress,  "  picking  up  from  Grub  Street  a  worm- 
eaten  pamphlet,  with  opinions  that  would  form  an  appropriate 
argument  for  the  leader  of  a  band  of  highway  robbers."  "  I 
confess,  Mr.  President,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "  that  when  I  fol- 
lowed the  honorable  Senator,  hopping  and  skipping  from  leg- 
islative debates  to  catch-penny  pamphlets,  gathering  alike  from 
the  flowers  and  the  offal  of  history,  I  found  it  difficult  to  de- 
cide whether  his  labors  more  resembled  those  of  a  humming- 
bird in  a  flower  garden,  or  a  butterfly  in  a  farm-yard."  There 
was  more  of  the  same  sort.  The  answer  was  immediate,  and 
in  a  strain  which  Mr.  Choate  in  no  other  case  ever  indulged  in. 
"  I  must  throw  myself,  Mr.  President,"  he  said,  "  on  the  indul- 


80  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS    CHOATE.  [Chap.  IV. 

gence  of  the  Senate  for  a  few  minutes ;  and  offer  a  few  words 
of  explanation,  made  necessary  by  the  senator's  comments 
upon  a  portion  of  the  remarks  which  I  had  the  honor  to  sub- 
mit to  you  some  six  weeks  ago.  I  do  not  propose  to  take 
notice  of  anything  which  he  has  said  to  other  senators,  nor  of 
what  I  may  call  the  general  tariff"  matter  of  his  speech.  If 
others  have  been  assailed,  as  I  have  been,  by  stale  jests  or  new 
jests,  stale  argument  or  new  argument,  stale  denunciations 
or  fresh,  they  well  know  how  to  take  care  of  themselves.  I 
rejoice,  too,  to  see  that  the  protective  policy  of  the  country 
is  taking  excellent  care  of  itself.  One  more  such  vote  as 
another  branch  of  Congress  has  just  given,  —  one  such  elec- 
tion as  will  occupy,  reward,  and  illustrate  the  approaching 
summer  and  autumn,  — ■  and  the  universal  labor  of  America 
will  be  safe  from  the  jokers  of  old  jokes,  or  the  jokers  of  new 
jokes.  If  then  it  be  assailed  by  the  arguments  of  men  or  the 
arms  of  rebels,  it  will,  I  hope,  be  quite  able  to  defend  itself 
against  them  also. 

"  Confining  myself,  then,  Mr.  President,  altogether  to  the 
senator's  notice  of  me,  I  must  begin  by  saying  that  never  in 
my  life  have  I  been  so  completely  taken  by  surprise  as  by  this 
day's  exhibition,  just  closed,  of  good  manners,  sweet  temper, 
courteous  tone,  fair  statement  of  his  opponent's  position,  mas- 
terly reply  to  it,  excellent  stories  —  all  out  of  Joe  Miller  — 
extemporaneous  jokes  of  six  weeks'  preparation,  gleaned  from 
race-ground,  cockpit,  and  barn-yard,  with  which  the  senator 
from  South  Carolina  has  been  favoring  the  Senate  and  amus- 
ing himself.  I  came  into  the  Senate  yesterday  with  the  im- 
pression that  the  occasion  was  to  be  one  of  a  sort  of  funereal 
character.  I  supposed  that  this  bill  of  the  senator,  never  fairly 
alive  at  all,  but  just  by  your  good-nature  admitted  to  have  been 
so  for  a  moment  to  make  a  tenancy  by  courtesy,  and  now 
confessedly  dead,  was  to  be  buried.  I  came  in,  therefore, 
with  composed  countenance,  appropriate  meditations  on  the 
nothingness  of  men  and  things,  and  a  fixed  determination  not 
to  laugh,  if  I  could  help  it.  The  honorable  senator,  I  sup- 
posed, would  pronounce  the  eulogy,  and  then  an  end.  Even 
he,  I  expected,  would  come  rather  to  bury  than  to  praise.  I 
thought  it  not  improbable  that  we  should  hear  the  large  and 
increasing  majority  of  the  American  people  proclaimed  rob 


1843-1844.]  REPLY   TO   MR.   M'DUFFIE.  81 

bers  and  plunderers,  —  because  that  we  hear  from  tlie  sanne 
source  so  often,  some  threatenino-  of  nullification  in  old  forms 
or  new,  some  going-  to  death  on  sugar,  some  '  purging  of  the 
passions  by  pity  and  terror,'  —  and  then  the  ceremony  would 
be  closed  and  all  be  over. 

"  No  tongue,  then,  can  express  the  surprise  with  which  I 
heard  the  honorable  senator  waste  a  full  hour  or  more  of  the 
opening  of  his  speech,  and  some  precious  health  and  strength, 
in  slowly  dealing  out  a  succession  of  well-premeditated  and 
smallish  sarcasms  on  me.  I  was  surprised,  because  I  think 
the  Senate  will  on  all  sides  bear  witness  to  what,  under  the 
very  peculiar  circumstances,  I  may  be  excused  for  calling  to 
mind,  —  my  own  general  habit  of  courtesy  here.  Not  par- 
ticipating with  excessive  frequency  in  debate,  nor  wholly  ah- 
stainino-  from  it,  I  have  sought  always  to  observe  the  man- 
ner,  as  I  claim  to  possess  the  sentiments,  of  a  gentleman.  In 
such  a  body  as  this,  such  a  course  is,  indeed,  no  merit  and  no 
distinction.  It  is  but  an  unconscious  and  general  sense  of  the 
presence  in  which  we  speak. 

"  In  the  instance  of  this  discussion  of  the  tariff  I  am  totally 
unaware  of  any  departure  from  what  I  have  made  my  habit. 
The  senator  from  South  Carolina,  had,  as  he  had  a  perfect 
right  to  do,  introduced  a  proposition  which,  adopted,  would 
sweep  the  sweet  and  cheerful  surface  of  Massachusetts  with  as 
accomplished,  with  as  consummated  a  desolation,  as  if  fire  and 
famine  passed  over  it ;  and  would  permanently,  and  widely  as  I 
believed,  and  most  disastrously,  affect  the  great  interests  and  all 
parts  of  the  country.  That  proposition  I  opposed  ;  debating 
it,  however,  in  a  general  tone,  and  with  particular  expression  of 
high  respect  for  the  abilities  and  motives  of  the  iionorable  sena- 
tor, and  in  a  manner  from  first  to  last  which  could  give  no  just 
offence  to  any  man.  I  acknowledge  my  surprise,  therefore,  at 
the  course  of  the  senator's  reply.  But  I  feel  no  stronger  emo- 
tion. I  do  not  even  remember  all  the  good  things  at  which  his 
friends  did  him  the  kindness  to  smile.  If  he  shall  ever  find 
occasion  to  say  them  over  again,  he  will  have,  I  presume,  no 
difficulty  in  re-gathering  them  from  the  same  jest-book,  the 
same  historian  of  Kilkenny,  the  same  race-ground  and  cockpit 
and  barn-yard,  where  he  picked  them  up.  They  will  serve  his 
purpose  a  second  time  altogether  as  well  as  they  have  done 


82  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IV. 

now."  From  this  the  speaker  went  on  distinctly  and  cogently 
to  reaffirm  and  prove  his  former  position,  respecting  the  law  of 
1789,  not  a  new  and  original  idea,  as  had  been  charged  upon 
him,  but  held  by  Washington,  Jefferson,  Madison,  and  Dallas, 
"  almost  as  old  indeed  as  some  of  his  opponent's  newest  jests 
and  best  stories." 

Another  charge  he  meets  with  peremptory  denial.  "  What 
does  the  senator  say  next  ]  Well,  Sir,  as  far  as  I  could  make 
out  a  certain  enormous  and  broken-winged  metaphor,  in  which 
he  slowly  and  painfully  wrapped  up  his  meaning  rather  than 
displayed  it,  beginning  with  his  grandfather's  regimentals,  and 
ending  —  I  am  sure  I  could  not  see  how  —  with  a  butterfly 
and  a  barn-yard  —  a  Homeric  metaphor  —  a  longue  queue  — 
as  well  as  I  could  take  the  sense  of  the  figure,  he  meant  to 
say  that,  in  my  former  remarks,  I  contrived  by  selecting  my 
own  speakers,  by  picking  and  choosing  from  what  they  said, 
and  by  interpolations  of  my  own,  to  give  a  garbled  and  unfair 
exposition  of  that  great  debate,  its  course  and  topics  and  inter- 
pretative effect.  In  fewer  words,  his  metaphor  went  to  accuse 
me  of  having' confined  myself  to  a  culling  out  of  a  few  para- 
graphs here  and  there  from  a  debate  of  two  or  three  hundred 
pages,  and  then  assimiing  to  pass  off'  these  as  specimens  of  the 
whole  ;  whereas  they  afforded  no  idea  of  it  whatsoever.  It  is 
cheating  by  samples,  I  think,  which  the  senator  figuratively 
charges. 

"  Now,  Sir,  I  deny  this  charge.  I  dare  him  to  the  proof. 
I  challenge  him ;   I  challenge  any  man  to  produce  a  particle  of 

proof  of  it I  meet  the  senator's  bad  metaphor  by  good 

plain  English.  The  accusation  or  insinuation  is  totally  ground- 
less and  totally  unjust.  Let  the  senator  sustain  it,  if  he  can. 
There  is  the  speech  as  it  was  delivered.  He  has  at  last  found 
the  debate  which  it  attempted  to  digest.  If  it  was  not  fully 
and  fairly  done,  let  him  show  it." 

Beyond  assertion  he  then  went  on  to  demonstrate  the  cor- 
rectness of  his  position  by  ample  quotations  from  impreg- 
nable documents,  occasionally  throwing  in  sentiments  of  a 
higher  character,  and  closed  with  a  quiet  and  beautiful  ap- 
peal to  the  senators  from  Virginia  and  Georgia.  Speaking 
of  a  proposition  of  Mr.  M'Duffie,  he  says,  to  indicate  its 
absurdity :   "To  show  how  willing  he  is  to  follow  in  the  foot- 


1843-1844.]  REPLY   TO   MR.   M'DUFFIE.  83 

steps  of  the  fathers,  the  senator  tells  us  '  he  will  compound 
for  the  duties  of  1789 ;  nay.  he  will  double  them  even.' 
Really,  Sir,  he  is  magnificent.  Will  he  give  us  back  the 
world  and  the  age  of  17^9^  Will  he  give  us  back  our 
hours  of  infancy,  the  nurse,  the  ballad,  the  cradle  1  Will  he 
take  off  our  hands  the  cotton-mill  and  woollen-mill,  and  glass- 
house, and  all  the  other  various,  refined,  and  sensitive  labor 
and  accumulation  which  we  have  to  protect ;  and  will  he  give 
us  back  the  plain  household,  and  far-inland  manufactures  and 
mechanical  arts  of  the  olden  time  1  Will  he  give  us  back 
a  Europe  at  war,  and  a  sea  whitened  by  the  canvas  of  our 
thriving  neutrality  ?  Will  he  give  us  back  the  whole  complex 
state  of  the  case  which  made  those  duties  sufficient  then,  with- 
out the  reproduction  of  which  they  would  be  good  for  nothing 
now] 

"  Nay,  Sir,  not  to  be  difficult,  the  senator  '  would  even  be 
willing  to  give  us  the  rates  of  the  tariff  of  1816.'  This  is 
rich  also.  He  is  perfectly  willing  to  do  almost  anything  which 
is  less  than  enough.  The  labor  of  the  country  will  not  thank 
him  for  his  tariff  of  1816.  That  labor  remembers  perfectly 
well  that,  under  that  tariff,  manufactures  and  mechanical  arts 
fell  down  in  four  years  from  an  annual  production  of  over 
one  hundred  and  fifty  millions  to  an  annual  product  of  only  six 
and  thirty  millions 

"  The  honorable  senator,  applying  himself  diligently  to  the 
study  of  this  debate  of  1789,  says  that  he  finds  that  it  turned 
very  much  on  the  molasses  duty.  This  suggests  to  him,  first, 
a  good  joke  about  '  switchel,'  and  then  the  graver  historical 
assertion  that  '  Massachusetts  has  always  been  more  sensitive 
about  her  own  pockets,  and  less  about  her  neighbors,'  than  any 
State  in  the  Union.'  Now,  Sir,  1  should  be  half  inclined  to 
move  a  question  with  him  upon  the  good  taste  of  such  a  sally 
as  that,  if  I  did  not  greatly  doubt  whether  he  and  I  have  any 
standards  of  taste  in  common.  I  should  be  inclined  to  inti- 
mate to  him  that  such  a  sarcasm  upon  a  State  five  hundred 
miles  distant,  which  he  does  not  represent,  to  which  he  is  not 
responsible,  is  no  very  decisive  proof  of  spirit  or  sense.  He 
will  judge  whether  such  things  have  not  a  tendency  to  rankle 
in  and  alienate  hearts  that  would  love  you,  if  you  would  permit 
them.     Let  us  remember  that  we  have  a  union  and  the  aftec- 


84.  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Cuap.  IV. 

tions  of  union  to  preserve,  as  well  as  an  argument  to  conduct, 

a  theory  to  maintain,  or  a  jest,  old  or  new,  to  iuduloe 

It  is  a  grief  to  the  honorable  senator  to  see  protection  senti- 
ments spreading  at  the  South. 

'  Sun  !  how  I  hale  thy  beams  ! ' 

I  rejoice  to  see  this,  on  the  contrary.  I  should  be  glad  of  it, 
though  it  should  raise  up  a  manufacturing  competitor  in  every 
State  of  the  Union.  I  rejoice  to  perceive  symptoms  of  a  re- 
turn to  the  homogeneous  nature  and  harmonious  views  of  an 
earlier  and  better  day.  I  rejoice  to  see  that  moral  and  physi- 
cal causes,  the  power  of  steam,  the  sober  second  thought  of 
the  people,  are  combining  to  counteract  the  effects  of  a  wide 
domain,  and  local  diversities,  on  opinion  and  on  feeling.  I  am 
glad  to  see  the  whole  nation  reassembling,  as  it  were  —  the 
West  giving  up,  the  South  holding  not  back  —  reassembling 
on  the  vast  and  high  table-land  of  the  Union  !  To  the  Sena- 
tor from  Georgia,  [Mr.  Berrien,]  and  to  the  Senator  from  Vir- 
ginia, [Mr.  Rives,]  who  have  so  conspicuously  contributed  to 
this  great  result,  I  could  almost  presume  to  counsel,  persevere 
as  you  have  begun. 

'  Sic  vobis  itur  ad  astra  ! ' 

'  That  way,'  in  the  vindication  of  this  policy,  in  the  spread  of 
this  light,  in  the  enforcement  of  this  truth  — '  that  way,  glory 
lies.'  " 

With  a  brief  reply  and  rejoinder,  the  debate  here  ended,  and 
the  question,  on  an  amendment  which  brought  the  subject  itself 
before  the  Senate,  was  decided,  —  twenty-five  to  eighteen,  — 
against  the  resolution. 

Congress  adjourned  on  the  17th  of  June.  The  plans  formed 
for  study  during  the  recess — to  him,  of  course,  no  remission 
of  labor  —  will  be  seen  by  his  journal.  The  first  few  leaves 
have  an  earlier  date. 

'■'•  Decemher  25,1843.  WasJiington.  —  It  ought  to  be  quite  easy  for 
me  here,  when  not  actually  preparing  for  an  immediate  discussion,  to 
command  an  hour  for  this  journal,  —  in  its  plan  altogether  the  best  of  the 
many  I  have  attempted.  An  hour  then  I  prescribe  myself  for  this  labor 
and  this  pleasure,  and  this  help.  I  think  it  may  be  usually  an  hour  of 
the  evening  ;  but  it  must  be  an  hour  of  activity  and  exertion  of  mind. 

"  I  read,  as  part  of  a  course,  two  pages  in  Johnson's  Pope.     He  re- 


1843-1844.]  FRAGMENTARY  JOURNAL.  85 

cords  fairly,  forcibly,  and  most  pleasingly  in  point  of  expression,  his  filial 
piety  ;  and  asserts  and  accounts  for  his  sorrow  for  Gay's  death.  lie  then 
treats  the  subject  of  the  publication  of  his  letters.  The  first  question  is, 
Did  Pope  contrive  a  surreptitious  publication,  in  order  to  be  able  to  pub- 
lish himself  with  less  exposure  to  imputation  of  vanity  ?  Johnson  first 
tells  the  story  exactly  as  if  he  believed,  and  meant  to  put  it  forth  as  the 
ti'ue  account  of  the  matter,  that  Curl  acted  without  Pope's  procurement 
or  knowledge ;  and  that  he  was  surprised  and  angry  at  Curl's  conduct. 
He  then  gives  Curl's  account,  which,  true  or  false,  does  not  implicate 
Pope  ;  and  declares  his  belief  of  its  truth.  Somewhat  unexpectedly 
then,  he  intimates,  and  at  length  formally  declares  his  own  opinion  to  be, 
that  Pope  incited  the  surreptitious  publication  to  afford  himself  a  pre- 
text to  give  the  world  his  genuine  correspondence.  His  proofs  and 
arguments  are  at  least  few  and  briefly  set  forth.  At  a  moment  of  less 
occupation  I  will  examine  the  question  by  Roscoe's  helps,  and  express 
the  results. 


"  Milton's  father  was  the  son  of  a  Papist,  who  disinherited  him  for  be- 
coming a  Protestant  at  Oxford.  His  first  instructor  was  a  private  instruc- 
tor, and  was  Young,  a  Puritan,  who  had  been  also  an  exile  to  Hamburg 
for  his  religious  opinions.  His  father,  too,  was  educated  at  the  Univer- 
sity, was  of  a  profession  which  a  gentleman  might  follow,  and  a  lover 
and  writer  of  music.  His  mother  was  of  a  good  family,  and  greatly  es- 
teemed for  all  the  virtues  ;  and  preeminently  for  her  charity.  The  ear- 
liest influences,  therefore,  on  the  transcendent  capacities  yet  in  infancy 
and  childhood,  might  dispose  to  seriousness  ;  to  thoughtfulness ;  to  the 
love  and  appreciation  of  musical  sounds  and  successions ;  to  sympathy 
for,  and  attention  to  human  suffering ;  to  tendencies  towards  the  classes 
of  religious  Puritanism  ;  to  dignity  and  to  self-respect,  as  descended,  on 
both  sides,  of  gentle  ancestry,  and  imbibing  its  first  sentiments  from  re- 
fined and  respectable  minds,  tastes,  and  character.  Milton  passed  through 
no  childhood  and  youth  of  annoyances,  destitution,  illiberal  toil,  or  unre- 
fined association.  It  was  the  childhood  and  youth  of  a  beautiful  and  vast 
genius ;  irresistibly  attracted,  systematically  set  to  studies  of  language ; 
the  classical  and  modern  tongues  and  literature  ;  already  marking  its  ten- 
dencies by  recreating  in  the  harmonious  and  most  copious  speech  and 
flow,  and  in  the  flushed  and  warm  airs  of  Spenser ;  in  the  old  romances ; 
in  its  own  first  '  thoughts  voluntarily  moving  harmonious  numbers.'  Ex- 
cept that  his  eyes  and  head  ached  with  late  hours  of  reading,  till  he  went 
to  Cambridge,  in  his  seventeenth  year,  I  suspect  he  had  been  as  happy  as 
he  had  been  busy  and  improving. 


^^  Boston,  June  23,  [1844.]  —  It  is  necessary  to  reconstruct  a  life  at 
home ;  life  professional  and  yet  preparatory ;  educational,  in  reference 
to  other  than  pi'ofessional  life.  In  this  scheme  the  first  resolution  must 
be  to  do  whatever  business  I  can  find  to  do  —  tot.  vir.  maxima  conatu 
—  as  for  my  daily  bread.  To  enable  me  to  do  this,  I  must  revive  and 
advance  the  faded  memory  of  the  law  ;  and  I  can  devise  no  better  method 
than  that  of  last  summer,  —  the  preparation  of  a  careful  brief,  on  every 
case  in  Metcalf 's  last  volume,  of  an  argument  in  support  of  the  decision. 

VOL.    I.  8 


gQ  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IV. 

In  preparing  this  brief,  law,  logic,  eloquence,  must  be  studied  and  blended 
together.  The  airj  phrase,  the  turn  of  real  reply,  are  to  be  sought  and  writ- 
ten out.  I  may  embody  in  a  commonplace  the  principles  acquired  ;  and 
I  shall  particularly  strive  to  become  as  familiar  with  the  last  cases,  of  the 
English,  and  Federal  benches  at  least,  and  if  possible,  of  those  of  New 
York,  Maine,  and  New  Hampshire,  as  of  our  own.  I  have  lost  the  whole 
course  of  those  adjudications  for  some  years.  These  studies,  —  and  this 
practice,  —  for  the  law. 

"  I  advance  to  plans  of  different  studies,  and  to  the  training  for  a  differ- 
ent usefulness,  and  a  more  conspicuous  exertion.  To  avoid  a  hurtful  dif- 
fusion of  myself  over  too  wide  and  various  a  space  —  lahoriose  nihil  agens 
—  I  at  once  confine  my  rhetorical  exercitations  within  strict  and  impas- 
sable limits.  I  propose  to  translate  Cicero's  Catiline  Orations  ;  or  as 
many  as  I  can,  beginning  with  the  first ;  with  notes.  The  object  is,  — 
1st,  The  matter  and  manner  of  a  great  master  of  speech  ;  2d,  English  de- 
bating style,  and  words  ;  3d,  The  investigation  of  the  truth  of  a  remark- 
able portion  of  history.  All  the  helps  are  near  me.  I  shall  turn  the 
Orator,  as  nearly  as  I  can,  into  a  debater  statesman,  of  this  day,  in  Par- 
liament and  in  Congress. 

"  With  this,  I  shall  read  Burke's  American  speeches,  writing  observa- 
tions on  them.  The  object  is,  his  matter  and  manner  ;  useful  gleanings  ; 
rules  of  speech.  But  to  this  is  to  be  added  the  study  of  politics.  And 
for  this  cii'cumstances  are  propitious.  The  approaching  election  requires 
that  the  true  national  policy  of  the  country  should  be  impressed  on  the 
minds  of  the  people  of  America.  To  elect  a  Whig  administration  is  to 
prefer,  and  to  secure  the  practical  realization  of  that  policy.  To  induce 
the  people  to  elect  such  an  administration,  you  must  first  teach  them  to 
prefer,  to  desire  that  policy.  To  do  that  it  must  be  explained,  contrasted, 
developed,  decorated.  To  do  that  it  is  to  be  deeply  studied.  I  mean, 
therefore,  to  compose  discourses  on  the  tariff;  on  Texas;  on  currency; 
on  the  general  points  of  difference,  and  grounds  of  choice  between  the 
parties,  and  the  like,  —  embodying  what  I  understand  to  be  the  Whig  pol- 
itics, and  the  sound  politics  of  the  hour.  In  all,  through  all  —  an  impul- 
sive presentation  of  truths  —  such  an  one  as  will  move  to  the  giving  of 
votes  for  particular  men,  representing  particular  opinions,  is  the  aim. 
Every  one  ought  to  be  and  to  involve,  1st,  an  honest  study  of  the  topic  — 
and  so  an  advance  in  political  knowledge  ;  2d,  a  diligent  effort  to  move 
the  public  mind  to  action  by  its  treatment ;  and  so  an  exercise  in  speech. 
^ Princip.  fans  sapientite'  Truth  for  the  staple  —  good  taste  the  form  — 
persuasion  to  act  —  for  the  end. 

^^  July  16.  —  The  gift  of  an  interleaved  Digest  of  Massachusetts  Cases, 
suggests  and  renders  practicable  a  plan  of  reviewing  and  reviving  the 
law.  I  shall  add  the  fifth  volume  of  Metcalf  to  the  Digest  as  it  stands, 
and  in  so  doing  advert  to  the  whole  series  of  decisions.  This  will  not  in- 
terfere with  my  purpose  of  making  a  frequent  brief  on  legal  theses.  A 
trial  of  myself"  in  that  way  yesterday,  encouraged  me  to  suppose  I  can 
recall  and  advance  my  law.  I  am  sure  I  have  hit  on  the  right  mode  of 
study,  by  digest,  and  brief;  and  I  feel  in  the  resolution  a  revival  of  zeal, 
fondness,  and  ability  to  work. 

"  \lth  July.  —  Engaged  in  translating  Cicero  against  Catiline.    I  would 


1843-1844.]  CONTINUATION    OF   JOURNAr>.  87 

study  that  famous  incident  in  the  Roman  history.  I  must  assume  Cice- 
ro's orations  to  be  evidence  of  the  highest  authority  remaining.  He  pro- 
nounced them  —  one  in  the  presence  of  Catiline  —  all  of  them  before  the 

Senate  or  people  of  Rome,  during  the  transactions  to  which  they  relate 

he,  the  Consul,  stating  and  defending  the  most  public  acts  of  administra- 
tion, in  a  great  emergency.  I  see  nothing  to  detract  from  their  decisive 
weight  as  testimony,  but  the  fact  that  he  and  Catiline  were  on  opposite 
sides  of  the  conspiracy.  This  may  constitute  a  vast  diminution  of  title  to 
credit,  and  I  must  allow  for  and  measure  it.  One  word  on  Sallnst.  For 
many  reasons  his  authority  is  not  so  high.  He  was  not  an  actor  in  the 
scene.  He  could  not  have  personal  knowledge  of  details  to  so  minute  an 
extent.  But  consider  that  he  was  about  twenty-two  years  of  age  at  the 
time  when  the  conspiracy  was  formed ;  and  that  he  must  have  written  his 
history  within  thirty  years  after  the  event  itself,  since  he  died  at  the  age 
of  fifty-one,  and  therefore  addressed,  to  some  extent,  a  contemporary 
public.  If  he  is  not  to  be  relied  on  it  must  be  for  other  causes  than  want 
of  means  of  knowing  main  facts.  Still  the  circumstances  would  not  as- 
sure us  against  very  considerable  resort  to  imagination,  and  rhetoric,  — 
still  less  against  partisan  feeling  and  aim.  Where  are  the  proofs  or 
grounds  of  suspicion  of  his  untrustworthiness  as  a  historian  ?  Take  his 
sketch  of  Catiline's  character.  Catiline  was  of  noble  birth  ;  and  pos- 
sessed extraordinary  power  of  mind  and  of  body ;  but  his  moral  nature 
was  wholly  wicked,  and  his  life  habitually  vicious. 
[Here  appears  to  be  a  loss  of  some  pages.] 

"  There  is  a  pleasure  beyond  expression,  in  revising,  rearranging,  and 
extending  my  knowledge  of  the  law.  The  effort  to  do  so  is  imperatively 
prescribed  by  the  necessities  and  proprieties  of  my  circumstances  ;  but  it 
is  a  delightful  effort.  I  record  some  of  the  uses  to  which  I  try  to  make 
it  subservient,  and  some  of  the  methods  on  which  I  conduct  it.  My  first 
business  is  obviously  to  apprehend  the  exact  point  of  each  new  case 
which  I  study,  —  to  apprehend  and  to  enunciate  it  precisely,  —  neither 
too  largely,  nor  too  narrowly,  —  accurately,  justly.  This  necessarily  and 
perpetually  exercises  and  trains  the  mind,  and  prevents  inertness,  dul- 
ness  of  edge.  This  done,  I  arrange  the  new  truth,  or  old  truth,  or  what- 
ever it  be,  in  a  system  of  legal  arrangement,  for  which  purpose  I  abide 
by  Blackstone,  to  which  I  turn  daily,  and  which  I  seek,  more  and  more 
indelibly  to  impress  on  my  memory.  Then  I  advance  to  the  question  of 
the  laiv  of  the  new  decision,  —  its  conformity  with  standards  of  legal  truth, 
—  with  the  statute  it  interprets ;  the  cases  on  which  it  reposes  ;  the  prin- 
ciples by  which  it  is  defended  by  the  court,  —  the  law,  —  the  question  of 
whether  the  case  is  law  or  not.  This  leads  to  a  history  of  the  point ;  a 
review  of  the  adjudications;  a  comparison  of  the  judgment  and  argument, 
with  the  criteria  of  legal  truth.  More  thought,  —  producing  and  improved 
by  more  writing,  and  more  attention  to  last  cases  of  English  and  our  best 
reports,  are  wanting  still. 

"  I  seem  to  myself  to  think,  it  is  within  my  competence  to  be  master  of 
the  law,  as  an  administrative  science.  But  let  me  always  ask  at  the  end 
of  an  investigation,  can  this  law  be  reformed?  How?  why?  why  not? 
Qui  bono  the  attempt  ? 


88  Memoir  of  rufus  choate.  [Chap.  iv. 

"  A  charm  of  the  study  of  law  is,  the  sensation  of  advance,  of  certainty, 
of  '  having  apprehended,'  or  being  in  a  progression  towards  a  complete 
apprehension,  of  a  distinct  department  and  body  of  knowledge.  How  can 
this  charm  be  found  in  other  acquisitions  ?  How  can  I  hit  on  some  other 
field  or  department  of  knowledge  which  I  may  hope  to  master  ;  in  which 
I  can  feel  that  I  am  making  progress  ;  the  collateral  and  contemporane- 
ous study  of  which  may  rest,  refresh,  and  liberalize  me,  —  yet  not  leave 
mere  transient  impressions,  phrases,  tincture  ;  but  a  body  of  digested 
truths  and  an  improved  understanding,  and  a  superiority  to  others  in  use- 
ful attainment,  giving  snatches  of  time,  minutes  and  parts  of  hours,  to 
Cicero,  Homer,  Burke,  and  Milton,  to  language  and  literature  ?  I 
think  I  see  in  the  politics  of  my  own  country,  in  the  practical  politics  of 
my  country,  a  department  of  thought  and  study,  and  a  field  of  advance- 
ment, which  may  divide  my  time,  and  enhance  my  pleasure  and  my  im- 
provement, with  an  efficacy  of  useful  results  equal  to  the  law. 

"  My  experience  in  afi^airs  will  give  interest  to  the  study  of  the  thing. 
It  will  assist  the  study,  as  well  as  give  it  interest.  The  newspaper  of 
every  morning,  the  conversation  of  every  day,  the  speech  of  the  caucus, 
the  unavoidable  intercourse  with  men,  may  help  it.  One  hour  of  exclu- 
sive study  a  day,  with  these  helps,  might  carry  one  very  far ;  so  far  at 
least,  as  to  confer  some  of  the  sensations,  and  some  of  the  enjoyments, 
attending  considerable  and  connected  acquisitions.  Let  me  think  of 
methods  and  aims. 

"  1.  The  first  great  title  in  this  science  is  the  Constitution  ;  its  meaning, 
its  objects,  the  powers  it  gives,  the  powers  it  refuses,  and  the  grand  rea- 
sons why. 

"  2.  The  second  is  the  policy  on  which  that  Constitution  ought  to  be 
administered,  the  powers  it  ought  to  put  forth,  the  interests,  domestic  and 
foreign,  to  which  it  ought  to  attend.  This  is  practical  statesmanship,  the 
statesmanship  of  the  day.  Now,  let  us  see  how  systematic  and  scientific 
acquisitions  are  to  be  achieved  on  these  grand  subjects. 

"1.  It  is  to  be  done  by  composing  a  series  of  discourses,  in  the  manner 
of  lectures,  or  speeches,  or  arguments,  or  essays,  as  the  mood  varied,  on 
the  particulars  into  which  these  titles  expand  themselves.  Verplanck's 
letter  to  Col.  D.,  speeches  on  the  Tariff,  might  furnish  models.  1  cannot 
anticipate  the  several  subjects  of  the  discourses  composing  such  a  body  of 
study  and  thought,  —  but  I  can  anticipate  some  of  them.  The  history  of 
the  making  of  the  Constitution,  by  which  I  now  mean  narrowly,  the  his- 
tory of  the  call,  and  acts  of  the  convention  which  made,  and  those  which 
adopted  it.  The  history  of  the  causes  which  led  to  the  formation  of  such 
a  Constitution,  —  by  which  I  mean,  the  motives  which  led  the  country  to 
desire  it,  the  evils  expected  to  be  removed,  the  good  expected  to  be 
achieved ;  as  these  are  recorded  in  contemporay  memorials,  in  essays, 
speeches,  accounts  of  meetings,  debates,  and  all  the  original  discussion 
down  to,  and  through  the  adoption  of  the  government.  This  needs  a 
historian.  It  would  reward  one.  It  prepares  for  —  almost  it  supersedes 
direct  interpretation.  It  teaches  how  to  administer  it  in  the  spirit  of  its 
framers  and  age.  It  teaches  how  to  value  it  in  the  spirit  of  its  framers 
and  its  age. 

"  Thus  prepared,  you  come  to  the  instrument  itself;  to  its  meaning,  to  its 


1843-1844.]  CONTINUATION   OF  JOURNAL.  89 

powers  and  their  grounds,  to  its  structure  and  the  philosophy  and  grounds 
of  that  structure.  But  without  pursuing  this  very  genend  analysis  of  a 
plan,  which  will  change  and  unfold  itself  at  every  stage  of  accomplish- 
ment, let  me  retui-n  and  be  a  little  more  definite  and  more  practical.  I 
am  to  write  then,  first,  the  history  of  the  formation  and  adoption  of  the 
Constitution.  For  this  I  have,  or  can  command,  the  necessary  helps. 
My  course  will  be  first  to  glance  at  the  received  general  histories,  Mar- 
shall, Pitkin,  and  others,  and  then  seek,  in  original  papers  and  elsewhere, 
for  more  minute,  more  vivid,  and  less  familiar  details.  Truth,  truth,  is 
the  sole  end  and  aim.  I  shall  read  first,  with  pen  in  hand,  for  collecting 
the  matter,  and  not  begin  to  compose  till  the  general  and  main  facts  are 
entirely  familiar.  Let  me  auspicate  the  enterprise  by  recalling  the  im- 
mortal speculations  of  Cicero  on  his  renowned  state. 

"My  helps  I  have  supposed  tolerably  complete.  In  my  own  library 
are  Marshall,  Pitkin,  Bradford,  the  Madison  Papers,  Story,  the  Debates 
in  Conventions,  the  Federalist,  Sparks's  WashingtoUj  and  some  less  valu- 
able. 

"  It  will  give  vigor,  point,  and  interest  to  what  I  shall  write,  to  throw 
it  in  the  form  of  a  contention,  an  argument,  a  reply  to  an  unsound,  or  at 
least,  hostile  reasoner,  debater,  or  historian.  But  everywhere,  under 
whatever  form,  —  stjde,  manner,  are  to  be  assiduously  cultivated  and 
carefully  adapted  to  the  subject.  Reflection,  therefore,  rhetorical  decora- 
tion, historical  allusion,  a  strong,  clear,  and  adorned  expression,  a  style  fit 
for  any  intelligent  audience,  are  in  votis.  When  shall  I  prosecute  these 
studies  ?  The  hour  after  dinner  seems  best,  —  this  leaves  the  whole  morn- 
ing till  two  o'clock  for  the  law  and  for  business,  from  half-past  eight,  or 
eight  if  possible,  —  and  an  hour,  or  half  hour  before  tea. 

^^  August  24.  Odyssey,  Book  VIIL  166  to  175.  —  'One  man  has  a 
figure  and  personal  exterior,  mean,  contemptible;  but  God  crowns  and 
wreathes  about  his  form  with  eloquence.  Men  look  on  him  delighted  ; 
he  speaks  unfaltering,  but  with  a  honeyed  modesty ;  he  is  foremost  of  the 
assembly ;  as  he  walks  through  the  city  they  look  on  him  as  on  a  god. 

'"Another  in  form  is  like  the  immortals,  but  he  is  unadorned  by  the 
charm  of  graceful  speech.' 

"  Mark  the  recognition  of  the  power  of  eloquence.  It  is  an  endowment 
which  decorates,  which  crowns  an  unattractive  person  like  a  garland.  It 
is  unfaltering,  self-relying,  yet  it  charms  by  the  sweetest  modesty.  Its 
possessor  reigns  in  the  assembly.  He  is  gazed  at  in  the  streets.  Such 
praise,  such  appreciation,  such  experience,  so  early,  predicts  and  assures 
us  a  Demosthenes  in  the  fulness  of  time. 

"I  have  gone  through  a  week  of  unusual  labor;  not  wholly  unsatisfac- 
torily to  myself.  I  deliberately  record  my  determination  to  make  no 
more  political  speeches,  and  to  take  no  more  active  part  in  the  election 
or  in  practical  politics.  One  exception  I  leave  myself  to  make.  But  I 
do  not  expect  or  mean  to  make  it.  I  have  earned  the  discharge  —  hon- 
esta  missio  petitur  et  concessa  erit.  To  my  profession,  totis  viribus,  I  am 
now  dedicated.  To  my  profession  of  the  law  and  of  advocacy,  with  as 
large  and  fair  an  accompaniment  of  manly  and  graceful  studies  as  I  can 
command. 

8» 


90  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IV. 

"  In  reference  to  my  studies  of  eloquence,  I  would  do  something  to  col- 
lect and  arrange  general  observations — maxims,  proverbs  —  sententioe, 
yi/w/xat  —  for  use.  They  fix  attention.  They  are  argument,  authority, 
illustration,  the  signs  of  full  minds.  Burke,  Johnson,  Burton's  Anatomy 
—  any  great  author  —  any  author  supplies.  The  difficulty  is  of  arrange- 
ment, so  that  in  the  composition  of  an  argument  they  would  be  at  hand. 
I  see  no  way  but  to  digest  them  in  my  Index  Rerum  —  selecting  the 
letter  as  best  I  may  —  but  it  must  be  my  business  also  to  connect  them  in 
my  memory  with  the  truths  they  belong  to,  and  with  the  occasions  of 
possible  exhibition  and  use  —  and  to  review  the  collection  from  time  to 
time,  and  especially  on  the  preparation  of  a  discourse. 

"  29<A  September.  —  A  little  attention  to  things,  and  persons,  and  repu- 
tations about  me  teaches  that  uncommon  professional  exertions  are  neces- 
sary to  recover  business  to  live,  and  a  trial  or  two  teaches  me  that  I  can 
very  zealously,  and  very  thoroughly,  and  con  amore,  study  and  discuss 
any  case.  How  well  I  can  do  so,  compared  with  others,  I  shall  not  ex- 
press an  opinion  on  paper  —  but  if  I  live,  all  blockheads  which  are  shaken 
at  certain  mental  peculiarities,  shall  know  and  feel  a  reasoner,  a  lawyer, 
and  a  man  of  business.  In  all  this  energy  and  passion  I  mean  to  say  no 
more  than  that  the  utmost  possible  painstaking  with  every  case  is  perfectly 
indispensable,  and  fortunately  not  at  all  irksome.  The  case  in  hand  de- 
mands, invites  to  a  most  exact,  prepared,  and  deep  legal  and  rhetorical 
discourse. 

"  For  the  rest  I  grow  into  knowledge  of  Homer,  and  Tacitus  and  Juve- 
nal —  and  of  the  Rome  of  the  age  from  Augustus  to  Trajan.  A  busy 
professional  week  has  suspended  Cicero  somewhat,  and  has  as  usual  made 
the  snatches  of  my  unprofessional  readings  a  little  desultory,  —  which  is 
more  and  more  besetting ;  more  and  more  deleterious. 

"  I  wish,  as  I  have  long  wished,  that  I  could  acquire  a  genuine  and 
fervent  love  of  historical  reading,  —  I  mean  the  reading  of  what  I  may 
call  authentic  and  useful  history  ;  and  by  that  I  mean  the  series  of 
facts  of  which  the  present  is  the  traceable  result.  The  classical  histori- 
ans I  do  love.  I  read  Tacitus  daily.  But  this  is  for  their  language  ;  for 
their  pictures ;  for  the  poetical  incident ;  the  rhetorical  expression  ;  the 
artistical  perfectness  ;  and  beauty.  "We  cannot  know  that  anything  more 
is  true  than  the  most  general  course  of  larger  events.  The  moment  you 
go  beyond  that,  you  are  among  the  imaginative  writers.  You  are  deal- 
ing with  truths  ;  moralities  ;  instructions  ;  but  you  do  not  know  that  you 
are  or  are  not  dealing  with  actual  occurrences. 

"  The  history  I  would  read  is  modern.  I  should  go  no  farther  back 
than  Gibbon ;  should  recall  the  general  life,  thoughts,  action,  of  the  Mid- 
dle Age  in  him,  and  Hallara's  two  great  works ;  and  begin  to  study,  to 
write,  to  deduce,  to  lay  up,  in  the  standard,  particular  histories  of  the  great 
countries. 

"  Under  this  impulse  I  have  decided  to  start  from  the  revolution  of 
1688  ;  first  with  the  English  writers  ;  and  then  with  Voltaire.  The  rev- 
olution ;  and  the  reign  of  William  and  Mary,  and  William  the  Third  are 
my  first  study.  For  this  the  means  are  perhaps  sufficiently  ample.  My 
plan  is  simple.  I  examine  first  the  foreign  politics  of  England  —  her  re- 
lations to  Europe ;  the  objects  of  her  wars  ;  the  objects  of  her  treaties ; 


1843-1844.]  CONTINUATION   OF  JOURNAL.  9I 

and  the  results.  I  have  thus  surveyed  the  general  course  of  what  we 
loosely  call  the  history  of  the  time.  Then  I  turn  to  the  Constitutional 
history.  By  this  I  mean  the  history  of  the  changes  of  the  Constitution  ; 
the  politics  of  the  Crown ;  the  politics  of  parties ;  the  politics  of  promi- 
nent men  ;  the  politics  of  Parliament ;  the  laws  made ;  the  progress  and 
expression  of  public  opinion  as  that  opinion  relates  to  Government,  and 
to  civil  and  political  right  and  duty.  I  mean  by  it  the  history  of  so  many 
years  of  English  liberty.  The  industrial  history;  the  popular  history; 
the  history  of  the  condition  of  the  people,  their  occupations  ;  their  enjoy- 
ments ;  their  nature ;  the  history  of  literature,  art,  and  science ;  and  the 
study  of  the  master-pieces  of  liberal  culture  and  high  art  follow. 

"  I  wish  then  to  compress  into  a  few  condensed  and  comprehensive 
paragraphs  the  result  of  hours  and  of  days'  study,  under  each  of  these 
heads.  Notes  on  these  summaries  may  indicate  and  discuss  the  materials 
out  of  which  this  is  all  elaborated. 

"  Let  me  begin,  then,  with  such  a  succinct  display  of  the  foreign  poli- 
tics of  England  in  the  reign  of  William. 

"  The  one  grand  feature  of  English  foreign  policy  during  this  reign, 
was  antagonism  to  France  —  to  the  France  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth.  Its 
one  grand  and  constant  solicitude  and  effort  was  to  repel,  or  to  attack, 
France  ;  —  its  alliances,  its  battles,  its  whole  series  of  operations  from 
1688,  till  the  King  sunk  into  the  tomb,  pursued  this  single  object. 

"  There  is  a  simplicity  in  the  foreign  politics  of  this  reign  in  this  re- 
spect. And  when  you  ascend,  or  penetrate  to  the  origin  and  explanation 
of  this  policy ;  when  you  inquire  how  and  why  this  antagonism  to  Fi-ance 
became  its  law  ;  on  what  principles  and  with  what  views  so  wide  a  con- 
federacy became  associated  with  England  in  its  prosecution ;  when,  in 
other  words,  you  look  more  closely  into  the  entire  international  politics 
of  the  Europe  of  that  day,  you  find  all  as  simple,  and  all  as  intelligible. 
In  the  first  place,  the  foreign  policy  of  England  became  identified  with 
that  of  the  United  Provinces  ;  and  Holland  was  under  an  unintermitted 
necessity  to  fight,  or  to  observe  France.     Turn  first  to  Holland  " 


MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  V. 


CHAPTER    V. 

1844-1845. 

Political  Excitement  —  Speaks  for  Mr.  Clay  —  Meetinp;  of  Congress  —  Diary 
—  Annexation  of  Texas  —  Admission  of  Iowa  and  Florida  —  Establishment 
of  the  Smithsonian  Institution  —  Library  Plan  —  Letters  to  Hon.  C.  W. 
tlpham  —  Illness  of  Dr.  Sewall  —  Letter  to  Mrs.  Brinley. 

In  the  political  contest  of  1844,  the  annexation  of  Texas 
was  the  leading  issue.  Mr.  Van  Buren  failed  of  a  nomina- 
tion in  the  Democratic  Convention,  mainly  because  he  was 
unfavorable  to  that  measure,  and  Mr.  Polk  was  substituted  in 
his  place.  Mr.  Clay  was  the  candidate  of  the  Whigs.  Mr. 
Choate  entered  ardently  into  the  campaign,  supporting  Mr. 
Clay  with  all  his  ability.  He  spoke  on  the  4th  of  July,  at 
Concord,  where  speeches  were  also  made  by  Mr.  Berrien,  of 
Georgia,  Mr.  Webster,  Mr.  Winthrop,  Mr.  Lawrence,  and 
others.  He  addressed  a  Whig  Convention  of  Western  Mas- 
sachusetts at  Springfield,  on  the  9th  of  August.  He  spoke 
before  the  Young  Men  of  Boston  on  the  l9th  of  the  same 
month,  and  again  before  a  Mass  Meeting  at  Lynn,  early  in 
September.  He  was  opposed  to  the  admission  of  Texas,  not 
on  narrow  or  sectional  grounds,  but  from  fear  of  the  final 
result  to  the  Union  itself.  In  the  speech  at  Lynn,  prescient 
of  coming  danger,  he  said,  "  If  Texas  is  annexed  to  the 
United  States,  these  revolutionary  soldiers  who  rocked  the 
cradle  of  the  infancy  of  the  Union,  will  five  to  follow  its 
hearse  to  the  grave."  We  are  better  able  now  to  judge  of 
the  effect  of  that  sudden  and  immense  increase  of  territory, 
and  of  the  purposes  for  which  it  was  urged. 

A  continuation  of  the  fragmentary  "  Journal "  will  best 
show  the  intellectual  plans  of  the  year,  and  may  indicate  what 
he  accomplished  in  the  midst  of,  and  in  spite  of  the  incessant 
demands  of  politics,  and  of  his  profession. 


1844-1845.]  FRAGMENTARY  JOURNAL.  93 

^'■Boston,  December  9,  1844.  —  About  to  set  off  to  Wash i no-ton,  there 
to  close  in  two  months,  forever,  my  political  life,  and  to  begin  mv  return 

to  my  profession,  I  am   moved   with  a  passion  of  planning  a  little 

what,  in  all  probability,  will  not  be  performed  —  or  not  performed  without 
pretty  essential  variations  and  interruptions. 

"  1.  Some  professional  work  must  be  done  every  day.  Probably  the 
preparation  of  Rhode  Island  v.  Massachusetts,  and  of  Thurlow  in  Error, 
may  furnish  quite  enough  for  these.  But  recent  experiences  suggest  that 
I  ought  to  be  more  familiar  with  evidence  and  Cowen's  Phillipps  ;  there- 
fore, daily,  for  half  an  hour,  I  will  thumb  conscientiously.  When  I  come 
home  again,  in  the  intervals  of  actual  employment,  my  recent  methods  of 
reading,  accompanying  the  reports  with  the  composition  of  arguments 
upon  the  points  adjudged,  may  be  properly  resumed. 

"  2.  In  my  Greek,  Latin,  and  French  readings  —  Odyssey,  Thucydides, 
Tacitus,  Juvenal,  and  some  French  orator  or  critic  —  I  need  make  no 
change.  So,  too,  Milton,  Johnson,  Burke  —  semper  in  rnanu  —  ut  mos 
est.  To  my  Greek  I  ought  to  add  a  page  a  day  of  Crosby's  Grammar, 
and  the  practice  of  parsing  every  word  in  my  few  lines  of  Homer.  On 
Sunday,  the  Greek  Testament,  and  Septuagint,  and  French.  This  and 
the  oration  for  the  Crown,  which  I  will  completely  master,  translate, 
annotate,  and  commit,  will  be  enough  in  this  kind.  If  not,  I  will  add  a 
translation  of  a  sentence  or  two  from  Tacitus. 

"  3.  The  business  of  the  session  ought  to  engross,  and  shall,  my  chief 
attention.  The  Smithsonian  Fund  ought  to  be  applied  to  a  great  library ; 
and  a  report  and  a  speech  in  favor  of  such  an  appropriation  are  the  least 
I  owe  so  grand  and  judicious  a  destination  of  a  noble  gift.  An  edition  of 
the  laws,  on  the  plan  of  the  last  winter,  is  only  next  in  dignity  and  im- 
portance. For  the  rest  —  the  reduction  of  postage,  the  matter  of  Texas, 
the  tariff — will  be  quite  likely,  with  the  Supreme  Court,  to  prevent  time 
from  hanging  vacantly  on  my  hands.  Sit  mihi  diligentia,  sint  vires  — 
sit  denique  et  praecipue  gratia  ! 

And  now  for  details  of  execution. 

I.  Walk  an  hour  before  breakfast ;  morning  paper ;  Johnson  and 
Milton  before  breakfast.  Add,  if  possible,  with  notes,  an  Essay  of  Bacon 
also,  or  a  paper  of  the  Spectator,  or  a  page  of  some  other  paper  of 
Addison. 

II.  After — L  The  regular  preparation  for  the  Senate,  be  it  more 
or  less.  Let  this  displace,  indeed,  all  else,  before  or  after.  2.  If  that 
allows —  (a.)  Preparation  of  cases  for  courts,  (b.)  If  that  allows — 1. 
Page  in  Cowen's  Phillipps.  2.  Then  preparation  for  courts.  3.  Then 
Senate,  &c. 

III.  Letters  and  session. 

IV.  Then  —  subject  to  claims  of  debate  and  of  Court —  Greek,  Latin, 
French,  ut  supra,  Burke,  Taylor. 

V.  The  cases  to  be  prepared  by  —  say  20th  January;  debate  oftener 
than  formerly ;  less  preparation  is  really  needful,  yet  seek  one  great 
occasion. 


94,  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  V. 

"  The  Last  Session. 

"  15//i  December,  1844.  —  Undei"  this  title  I  mean  to  set  down  any- 
thing which  I  may  collect  from  reading  and  intercourse  with  men  in 
Congress  and  the  Government,  that  strikes  me  as  having  value  or  in- 
terest enough  to  deserve  the  trouble.  I  don't  design  it  for  a  diary  ;  or 
mere  record,  or  in  any  degree  a  record,  of  daily  occurrences,  for  that  I 
keep  elsewhere,  but  rather  as  a  record  of  daily  thoughts  and  acquisitions 
and  impressions,  during  what  I  foresee  must  be  a  most  instructive  ses- 
sion, and  what  I  know  is  to  be  my  last  session. 

"  I  begin  a  great  work.  Thucydides,  in  Bloomfield's  new  edition, 
with  the  intention  of  understanding  a  difficult,  and  learning  something 
from  an  instructive  writer — something  for  the  more  and  more  compli- 
cated, interior,  inter  state,  American  politics. 

"  With  Thucydides  I  shall  read  Wachsmuth,  with  historical  references 
and  verifications.  Schomann  on  the  Assemblies  of  the  Athenians.  W. 
especially,  I  am  to  meditate  and  master.  Daciei-'s  Horace,  Ode  1,  11th 
to  14th  line,  translation  and  notes,  —  a  pocket  edition  to  be  always  in 
pocket. 

"  Washington,  Tuesday  eve.,  17 th  Dec.  —  1  was  able  to-day  almost  to 
resume  my  courses,  such  as  they  are,  of  classical  and  elegant  reading  — 
Johnson's  Life  of  Addison ;  the  Odyssey,  Thucydides,  Tacitus,  Juvenal, 
Horace's  Art  of  Poetry  in  Dacier  and  Hurd.  It  was  quite  mechanical 
however,  from  ill  health  and  fatigue.  I  begin  to-morrow  meliorihus  ut 
spero,  auspiciis.  I  read  Phillipps's  Evidence,  beginning  at  title  '  Incom- 
petency,' and  commonplaced  a  reference  or  two. 

"  Thursday  eve.  —  Mai'k  how  Homer  makes  the  wise  and  great  Ulysses 
applaud  the  blind  harper  and  poet  and  singer  Demodocus,  Od.  8,  470  to 
480,  and  again,  487,  &c.     Seq. 

" '  Demodocus,  above  all  mortals,  I  laud  you.  Either  the  Muse,  the 
daughter  of  God,  or  Apollo,  has  been  your  teacher.  So  clearly  and  so 
truly  do  you  sing  the  dark  and  sad  fortunes  of  the  Greeks ;  what  they 
achieved ;  what  they  suffered ;  with  what  manifold  trials  and  labors  they 
contended,  as  if  you  had  been  with  them,  an  eye-witness,  a  sharer,  or  had 
heard  from  one  who  had  been.' 


"  Thucydides  is  explaining  why  the  primitive  ages  of  Greece  afford 
the  historian  nothing  great,  neither  in  war,  nor  in  anything  else.  In  my 
reading  of  to-day,  close  of  2d  and  3d  of  c.  2,  he  is  saying  :  '  And  for  this 
reason,  they  did  not  strengthen  themselves,  either  by  the  greatness  of 
cities  or  by  military  preparation  of  any  kind.  It  was  ever  the  most  fer- 
tile regions  which  oftenest  underwent  changes  of  occupants;  such  as  what 
is  now  called  Thessaly  and  Boeotia,  and  the  greater  part  of  Peloponnesus, 
(excepting  Arcadia,)  and  the  better  portions  of  other  countries  of  Greece. 
For  by  means  of  the  richness  of  their  soils  certain  individuals  would  at- 
tain to  a  superiority  of  wealth  ;  and  this  at  once  gave  birth  to  factions 
within,  by  which  they  were  subverted,  and  exposed  them  to  enemies  from 
without.' 

"  Tacitus,  Lib.  II.,  sec.  30,  relates  the  accusation  and  trial  of  Libo  : 
*  This  compelled  the  accused  to  ask  a  postponement  of  the  trial  until  the 


1844-1845.]  FRAGMENTARY  JOURNAL.  95 

next  day ;  and  returning  to  his  house,  he  committed  to  P.  Quirinus,  his 
kinsman,  the  last  entreaties,  to  be  borne  to  the  Elmperor.'  '  Let  him  ask 
mercy  of  the  Senate.'     Such  was  the  reply  of  Tiberius. 

"Saturday  night,  28t/i  Dec,  1844.  —  My  readings  have  been  pretty 
regular  and  almost  systematic.  Phillipps's  Evidence,  with  notes,  Johnson, 
The  Taller,  The  "Whig  Examiner,  and  Milton,  in  the  morning — some 
thoughts  on  the  Smithsonian  Fund,  and  one  or  two  other  Senatorial  mat- 
ters in  the  forenoon,  and  the  Odyssey,  Thucydides  in  Bloomfield,  Hobbes, 
and  Arnold,  Demosthenes  for  the  Crown,  Tacitus,  Juvenal,  and  Horace 
de  Arte  Poet,  with  Dacier  and  Hurd.  For  the  rest  I  have  read  Jeffrey's 
contributions  to  the  Review,  and  have  plunged  into  a  pretty  wide  and 
most  unsatisfactory  course  of  inquiry  concerning  the  Pelasgi,  and  the 
origin  of  Greek  culture,  and  the  Greek  mind.  Upon  this  subject  let  me 
set  down  a  few  thoughts. 

"  28^^  December,  1844.  —  The  nation  which  attracts  the  highest  inter- 
est to  its  history  is  undoubtedly  Ancient  Greece.  Perfectly  to  know  that 
history,  to  discern  and  arrange  its  authentic  incidents,  to  extract  and 
exclude  fable,  to  abate  exaggeration,  to  select  sagaciously  and  probably 
between  alternatives  of  conjecture ;  to  solve  the  great  problem  of  the 
origin,  successive  growth  and  complete  formation  of  that  mind  and  char- 
acter, the  causes  which  produced  it  and  set  it  apart  from  all  other  charac- 
ter and  mind ;  to  deduce  and  apply  the  lessons  of  that  history  to  America 
—  would  be  a  vast  achievement  of  scholarship  and  philosophy  and  states- 
manship. To  me,  cogitante  scepenumero  on  what  one  such  labor  I  may 
concentrate  moments  and  efforts  else  sure  to  be  dissipated  and  unproduc- 
tive, this  seems  to  be  obviously  my  reserved  task.  It  is  large  enough, 
and  various  enough  to  employ  all  my  leisure,  stimulate  all  my  faculties, 
cultivate  all  my  powers  and  tastes,  and  it  is  seasonable  and  applicable  in 
the  actual  condition  of  these  States.  He  who  should  perform  it  ade- 
quately Avould  be  not  mei'ely  the  best  Greek  scholar  of  this  country  ;  the 
best  read  in  one  brilliant  chapter  of  the  history  of  man  ;  the  most  accom- 
plished in  one  vast  department  of  literature,  art,  philosophy,  fact ;  but  he 
would  have  added  to  his  means  of  counselling  the  people  on  the  things  of 
their  peace.  He  would  have  learned  more  of  the  uses  and  dangers  of 
liberty,  and  the  uses  and  dangers  of  union.  Let  me  slowly,  quietly  begin. 
I  seek  political  lessons  for  my  country.  But  I  am  to  traverse  centuries 
before  I  find  these  lessons  in  the  pages  of  Thucydides.  To  approach  to 
the  accomplishment  of  this  design,  it  must  be  my  only  literary  labor  — 
my  only  labor  not  professional.  It  may  well,  and  it  positively  must 
supersede  all  others.  The  investigations  it  will  exact ;  the  collections  of 
authorities ;  the  constant  use  of  the  pen  ;  the  translations,  the  specula- 
tions, ought  to  constitute  an  admirable  exercise  in  reasoning ;  in  taste ; 
in  rhetoric  as  well  as  history.  They  may  be  embodied  in  a  series  of 
careful  essays. 

"  I  dismiss  therefore,  and  replace  in  the  library,  all  my  books,  except 
the  two  or  three  which  I  read  for  English  and  Latin  —  and  bestow  my- 
self on  this. 

"  The  Homeric  poems  present  to  us  a  Greece  already  formed  ;  a  race 
speaking  one  tongue,  distinct  from  the  tongues  of  Egypt  or  Phojnicia, 
distributed  into  many  distinct  sovereignties ;  some  of  which,  or  all  of 


96  MEMOIR   OF   KUFUS    CHOATE.  [Chap.  V. 

which  are  allied  for  the  prosecution  of  a  great  foreign  war,  under  a  single 

command.     They  disclose  this  race  already  in  the  occupation  of  ■ 

[Here  a  blank  occurs  in  the  MS.] 
and  they  paint  vividly,  comprehensively,  its  whole  public  and  private  life  ; 
its  religion  ;  its  industry ;  its  art ;  its  language  ;  its  mind  ;  its  manners. 
That  Greece  I  shall,  long  hereafter,  carefully  study  and  exhibit.  But 
not  yet.  There  is  a  stupendous  preliminary  problem.  "What  had  pre- 
ceded and  produced  that  Greece?  What  causes  had  acted  on  what  races 
so  as  to  evolve  the  Greece  of  the  heroic  age  ?  who  had  been  the  actors ; 
what  had  been  the  acts,  —  what  had  been  the  influences  ;  what  the  suc- 
cession of  changes,  and  of  advancement  ? 

"  The  Greek  character  and  mind  in  its  perfection,  was  so  extraordinary, 
so  unlike  all  that  had  preceded  or  have  followed  it,  that  it  is  not  very 
strange  perhaps  that  speculatists  should  look  with  favor  on  the  theory 
of  a  descent  from  a  primitive  race  or  races,  of  extraordinary  qualities. 
They  have  scarcely  been  able  to  comprehend  how  any  mere  national 
education,  however  varied,  however  plastic,  of  which  we  can  learn  any- 
thing, could  have  formed  such  a  character  and  such  a  mind  out  of 
common  savage  nature ;  and  they  have  been  half  inclined  to  find  in  the 
Pelasgi  of  the  Old  World,  or  in  the  Hellenes,  or  in  a  race  from  the 
North  —  or  in  all  together,  the  germs  of  the  transcendent  genius,  and 
the  brilliant  traits  which  illustrate  the  age  of  Grecian  glory. 

"  Let  me  begin  then  with  the  Ante  Hellenic  races  and  ages  of  Greece. 
Who  —  whence  —  what —  and  of  what  names,  fortunes,  diffusion,  its  first 
inhabitants  ? 


"The  Last  Session,  —  A  Day. 

^^  January,  1845.  —  Finished  Johnson's  Life  of  Sheffield.  J.  carelessly 
assigns  as  evidence  that  S.  refused  conversion  to  papacy,  an  anecdote 
which  he  immediately  disproves.  If  the  sentence  had  been  finished  with 
'others;'  and  he  had  then  said,  B.  evewrecords,  &c.,  &c.,  and  then  dis- 
proved B.'s  specific  statement,  better. 

"  The  progress  of  Milton's  fame,  illustrated  by  the  changes  of  the  later 
editions  of  one  of  his  [Sheffield's]  pieces  from  the  earlier,  is  curious. 

'  A  faultless  monster,  which  the  world  ne'er  saw,' 

is  good  and  quotable.  Sine  lahe  monstrum  [of  Scaliger]  is  the  germ 
certainly. 

"  I  remark  '  illegality,'  and  '  conjunctive  sovereignty.'  How  does  Hal- 
lam  express  it  ?     Is  it  associated  sovereignty  ? 

"  Milton's '  Paradise  Lost,'  1st  book,  344-375.  Mark  the  matchless  gran- 
deur and  elevation  of  expression.  '  Cope  of  Hell,'  '  Great  Sultan,'  not 
sovereign  ;  how  much  more  harmonious,  aiming  at  variety,  uncommon, 
with  a  charm  of  orientalism.  '  Rhene,'  '  Danaw,'  '  Beneath  Gibraltar,'  an 
epithet  which  makes  you  look  down  south. 

'  Gay  religions,  — full  of  pomp  and  gold,' 
classical  and  gorgeous. 


1844-1845.]  FRAGMENTARY  JOURNAL.  m 

"Paper  in  Ret.  Rev.^  vol.  i.  p.  83,  on  Sir  Thomas  Browne's  'Urn 
Burial,'  —  great  beauty  and  an  exquisite  appreciation  of  the  peculiarities 
of  E.  The  first  page,  devoted  to  show  what  use  other,  most  writers,  have 
made  of  death  and  mortality,  has  delightful  expression  and  fine  thoughts, 
not  enough  separated  and  arranged  and  made  progressive.  '  Fragility ' 
of  delight  is  not  a  bewitching  attribute  of  delight.  It  is  an  influence, 
bowevei',  a  fact,  or  that  which  leads  to  a  more  intense  estimate  and 
greedier  and  fonder  enjoying  of,  and  a  making  most  of  it. 

"  What  follows  is  truer,  or  more  truly  sets  forth  what  philosophy  and 
poetry  may  and  do  effectively  derive  from  mortality  to  their  representa- 
tions of  affection;  sympathy,  the  human  nature. 

"  In  addition  to  my  course,  and  a  rule  of  Greek  grammar,  I  read  a 
part  of  1st  Psalm  in  Buchanan's  Latin  and  Dupont's  Greek  ;  the  latter 
verbose  and  tautologous,  the  former,  I  should  think,  rigorously  classical 
and  energetic.  Finished  with  some  pages  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  on  life  and 
death.  Intense,  exaggerated,  mournful,  too  true.  I  will  daily  read  in  the 
English  version  at  least  six  verses  of  the  New  Testament  with  an  earnest 
eflfort  to  understand,  imbibe,  and  live  them.  Satis,  plusquam  satis,  sic 
vixisse,  —  sic  non  vixisse,  —  nee  pulchre,  —  nee  recte,  —  sine  dignitate,  — 
sine  me  ipsum  salvum  faciend. !  sine  reg.  —  sine  observ.  —  Dei  prajcept. 
—  sine  intellig.  —  et  app.  —  ad  me  instit.  —  et  ritus  rel.  Christ  —  vit.  ist. 
tua3  felic.  non  debetur,  nee  promissa,  nee  poss.  !  Ideo  ut  supra  in  vers, 
ang.  una  cum  fin.  diei  stud.     Sex  vers.  leg.  et  med.  et  orare  ! 

"The  session  ended.     Boston,  March  10,  1845. 

"  To  resume  my  ante-Homeric  Greece,  I  have  but  to  procure  a  Nie- 
buhr  and  Miiller  in  addition  to  books  already  at  hand,  to  review  the  col- 
lections accumulated  at  Washington,  and  begin.  But  all  this  is  to  be  held 
in  strictest  subordination  to  law  and  to  business.  It  is  to  be  relaxation 
"  and  recreation  strictly,  yet  is  it  to  improve  style,  reason,  taste,  and  habits 
of  research. 

"  2>(}th  M.  '45.  A  succession  of  trials  in  diffei-ent  courts  has  thrown  me 
out  of  many  merely  literary  and  exercitational  purposes  and  duties.  These 
I  resume,  and  every  day  —  not  a  day  of  trial  in  court  —  I  shall  investigate 
some  subject  of  law,  three  hours  at  least,  digesting  the  results. 

"  Translation  daily  is  manifestly  my  only  means  of  keeping  up  ray  Eng- 
lish. This  I  practise  in  my  post-prandial  readings,  but  I  fear  it  is  not 
quite  exacting,  laborious,  and  stimulant  enough.  I  have  a  pretty  strong 
impression  that  the  only  sufficient  task  would  be  Demosthenes  severely, 
exactly  rendered,  yet  with  utmost  striving  of  words,  style,  melody,  volume 
of  sound,  and  impression.  I  should  begin  with  the  oration  for  the  Crown. 
When  ?  By  putting  my  post-prandial  classical  readings  before  breakfast, 
following  my  English,  I  could  gain  an  hour,  or  half  of  one,  after  dinner, 
and  half  an  hour  after  breakfiist  at  home.  This  will  do,  leaving  my  fore- 
noons, afternoons,  and  one  evening  hour,  for  business  and  law.     Try. 

"  12th  April.  —  I  have  tried,  and  with  tolerable  success.  I  have  trans- 
lated the  Decree  of  Ctesiphon ;  the  impeachment  of  ^schines ;  and  am 
now  about  to  digest  so  much  of  the  History  of  Greece  as  will  enable  me 
1  "  Retrospective  Review." 

VOL.  I.  9 


98  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  V. 

to  understand  the  two  great  speeches.  This  really  will  require  a  pretty 
careful  study  of  the  age  and  life  of  Demosthenes  in  Plutarch,  Mitford, 
Thirlwall,  and  such  other  helps  as  I  can  command.  Contemporary  au- 
thors there  are  none  since  Theopompus  is  perished ;  and  I  appreciate  the 
difficulty  of  the  search  for  truth.  Happy  if  I  find  enough  for  my  mere 
critical  and  rhetorical  purposes." 

The  purpose  suggested  above  of  devoting  himself  to  a  work 
on  the  history  and  culture  of  Greece,  was  one  which  he  doubt- 
less pretty  seriously  entertained.  He  used,  sometimes,  to  speak 
to  his  family,  half  jocosely  and  half  in  earnest,  of  his  "  immor- 
tal work,"  and  I  think  he  did  not  quite  abandon  the  plan  until 
after  Mr.  Grote's  history  was  published. 

The  subjects  which  presented  themselves  for  the  considera- 
tion of  Congress  during  the  session  of  1844-4*5  were  of  con- 
siderable consequence.  Foremost  among  them  was  the  annex- 
ation of  Texas.  During  the  previous  session,  in  accordance 
with  the  wishes  of  the  President,  an  attempt  had  been  made 
to  accomplish  this  object  by  treaty.  A  treaty  was  therefore 
negotiated  by  Mr.  Calhoun,  Secretary  of  State,  and  Mr.  Van 
Zandt,  representative  of  Texas.  When  presented  to  the  Sen- 
ate, however,  it  was  rejected  by  a  very  decisive  vote.  An 
attempt  was  now  made  to  reach  the  same  end  by  resolutions, 
which  were  introduced  in  the  Senate,  by  Mr.  M'Duffie,  and 
in  the  House,  by  Mr.  Ingersoll.  The  subject  w^as  not  fairly 
reached  in  the  Senate  until  the  13th  of  February,  1845,  and 
after  the  resolutions  had  passed  the  House.  The  debate  was 
conducted  with  great  ability,  and  by  the  leading  men  on  both 
sides  of  the  chamber,  by  Mr.  Buchanan,  Mr.  Walker,  Mr. 
Woodbury,  and  others  on  the  one  side,  and  by  Mr.  Choate, 
Mr.  Dayton,  Mr.  Crittenden,  and  Mr.  Berrien,  to  name  no 
more,  on  the  other.  The  interest  in  the  discussion  was  height- 
ened by  the  fact  that  the  Senate  was  nearly  equally  divided  on 
the  subject.  Mr.  Choate  spoke  on  the  18th  of  February  for 
nearly  three  hours.  —  There  is  no  full  report  of  this  speech, 
which  is  said  to  have  been  of  very  great  power. 

The  grounds  on  which  he  opposed  the  measure  were  mainly 
these  two:  1st.  That  it  was  beyond  the  constitutional  power 
of  Congress  ;  2d.  That  even  if  constitutional,  it  was  inexpe- 
dient. These  points  he  argued  at  considerable  length,  enforcing 
his  argument,  as  the  report  says,  with  "  innumerable  illustra- 
tions." Looking  at  the  period  before  the  Constitution  was 
formed,  he  contended  that  "in  framing  the  Constitution,  when 


184-1-1845.]       SPEECH    AGAINST   ANNEXING   TEXAS.  (jQ 

the  sovereign  power  of  the  people  was  to  be  delegated,  the 
grant  was  intended  to  be  in  express  terms,  such  as  the  power 
to  declare  war,  make  peace,  regulate  commerce  with  foreign 
nations,  levy  taxes,  &c.  But  no  such  power  as  that  of  admit- 
ting foreign  nations  into  the  Union  was  delegated,  or  it  would 
have  been  also  explicitly  granted."  Looking  at  the  Constitu- 
tion itself,  he  endeavored  to  show  that  the  power  to  admit  new 
States  was  not  intended  to  imply  the  vast  power  of  admitting 
foreign  governments.  This  he  denied  could  be  done  by  any 
power  but  the  primary,  sovereign  power  of  the  people  them- 
selves, either  by  agreement  to  amend  the  Constitution  so  as  to 
grant  the  express  authority,  or  otherwise.  "Until  it  was  found," 
he  said,  "  that  the  treaty  of  the  last  session  had  no  chance  of 
passing  the  Senate,  no  human  being  save  one,  no  man,  woman, 
or  child,  in  this  Union  or  out  of  this  Union,  was  ever  heard  to 
breathe  one  syllable  about  this  power  in  the  Constitution  of 
admitting  new  States  being  applicable  to  the  admission  of 
foreign  nations,  governments,  or  States.  With  one  exception, 
till  ten  months  ago,  no  such  doctrine  was  ever  heard,  or  even 
entertained."  The  exception  to  which  he  alluded  was  the  let- 
ter of  Mr.  Macon  to  Mr.  Jefferson,  which  Mr.  Jefferson  so 
promptly  rebuked,  that  the  insinuation  was  never  again  re- 
peated, "  till  it  was  found  necessary  ten  months  ago  by  some 
one, — he  would  not  say  with  Texas  scrip  in  his  pocket, — 
but  certainly  with  Texas  annexation  very  much  at  heart,  who 
brought  it  forward  into  new  life,  and  urged  it  as  the  only 
proper  mode  of  exercising  an  express  grant  of  the  Constitu- 
tion." This  he  regarded  as  a  new  and  monstrous  heresy  on 
the  Constitution,  got  up  not  from  any  well-founded  faith  in 
its  orthodoxy,  but  for  the  mere  purpose  of  carrying  a  measure 
by  a  bare  majority  of  Congress,  that  could  not  be  carried  by 
a  two  thirds  majority  of  the  Senate  in  accordance  uith  the 
treaty-making  power. 

In  conclusion,  alluding  to  some  criticism  upon  his  own 
State,  he  said  "  Massachusetts  asks  nothing  hut  what  the 
Constitution  has  given  to  her,  and  there  is  nothing  in  the 
Constitution,  however  peculiar,  however  different  from  her 
views  of  policy,  that  she  will  seek  to  stir,  or  ask  to  be  invaded. 
Keep  the  Constitution  and  the  Constitution  will  keep  you. 
Break  into  it  in  search  of  secret  curiosities  which  you  cannot 


100  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  V. 

find  there,  and  there  is  no  longer  security,  —  no  longer  any- 
thing between  you  and  us  and  the  unappeasable,  unchained 
spirit  of  the  age." 

The  resolution,  or  rather  an  amendment  "  leaving  it  at  the 
discretion  of  the  President,  whether  resort  should  be  had  to 
negotiation,  or  Texas  '  be  admitted  by  virtue  of  this  act,'  and 
become  an  independent  State,"  was  finally  passed  by  a  majority 
of  two,  and  having  again  gone  through  the  House,  President 
Tyler  signed  the  bill,  among  the  last  of  his  official  acts. 

A  bill  was  also  introduced  at  this  session  to  admit  Iowa  and 
Florida  into  the  Union.  Though  not  opposed  to  the  admis- 
sion of  new  States,  Mr.  Choate  strongly  objected  to  the  ex- 
traordinarv  method  of  a  joint  bill,  making  the  admission  of  the 
one  dependent  upon  that  of  the  other.  Some  things  in  the 
constitution  of  Florida  he  considered  to  be  ill-advised  if  not 
miconstitutional.  When,  therefore,  Mr.  Evans  proposed  as 
an  amendment  that  Florida  should  not  be  admitted  until  those 
articles  should  be  struck  from  her  constitution  which  took 
from  her  General  Assembly  the  power  to  pass  laws  for  the 
emancipation  of  slaves,  and  to  pass  laws  preventing  free  ne- 
groes or  other  persons  of  color  from  immigrating  to  the  State, 
or  from  being  discharged  from  any  vessel  in  any  of  the  ports 
of  the  State,  Mr.  Choate  supported  it.  He  did  it,  though 
reluctantly,  because  the  articles  seemed  to  be  contrary  to  the 
Federal  Constitution.  Admitting  that  Florida  had  the  right 
to  pass  such  municipal  laws  as  her  circumstances  required, 
he  wished  that  those  who  denied  their  constitutionality  might 
go  to  the  Supreme  Court  without  being  met  by  the  adverse 
action  of  Congress.  Massachusetts  was  even  then  engaged  in 
a  controversy  with  two  other  States  involving  the  questions 
here  brought  to  notice,  and  all  that  he  solicited  was  an  oppor- 
tunity to  have  the  right  of  the  Southern  States  to  arrest  the 
colored  citizens  of  the  North,  brought  directly  before  the  Su- 
preme Court  of  the  United  States  for  its  decision ;  a  decision, 
whatever  it  were,  that  Massachusetts  would  be  sure  to  respect. 

Of  all  the  objects,  however,  which  came  before  the  Senate 
during  the  session,  none  interested  Mr.  Choate  more  deeply 
than  the  organization  of  the  Smithsonian  Institution.  The  will 
of  James  Smithson,  containing  his  munificent  bequest,  was 
dated  October  23,  1826,  nearly  three  years  before  his  death.  ^ 

1  Smithson  died  June  27,  1829. 


1844-1845.]  SMITHSONIAN  INSTITUTION.  J  01 

The  bequest  was  accepted  by  Congress  in  1836,  and  the  money 
was  received  by  the  Government  of  the  United  States  on  tlie 
1st  of  September,  1838.  The  disposition  of  so  large  a  fund, 
amounting  to  more  than  half  a  million  of  dollars,  became  a 
matter  of  much  solicitude  to  all  who  regarded  the  interests  of 
knowledge,  or  the  honor  of  the  country.  Many  were  afraid, 
that  through  the  recklessness  of  parties,  it  would  in  some  way 
be  lost.  If  preserved,  intelligent  men  differed  as  to  the  use 
to  be  made  of  it.  In  the  summer  of  1838,  by  order  of  the 
President  of  the  United  States,  letters  were  addressed  to  emi- 
nent persons  in  various  parts  of  the  country,  soliciting  advice. 
As  might  have  been  anticipated,  the  opinions  were  as  diverse 
as  the  men.  John  Quincy  Adams,  who  had  devoted  much 
tliought  to  the  subject,  recommended  that  the  income  of  the 
fund,  for  a  series  of  years,  should  be  devoted  to  establishing  a 
National  Observatory.  President  Wayland  sketched  the  plan 
of  a  University.  Mr.  Rush  proposed  the  collection  of  seeds, 
plants,  objects  of  natural  history,  and  antiquities,  and,  in  ad- 
dition, courses  of  lectures,  which  should  be  free  to  a  certain 
number  of  young  men  from  each  State.  Other  plans  were 
also  suggested,  and  the  subject  was  discussed  from  time  to 
time  in  both  branches  of  Congress,  without,  however,  leading 
to  any  definite  result.  In  December,  1844-,  Mr.  Tappan,  a 
Senator  from  Ohio,  brought  in  a  bill  similar  to  one  which  he 
had  advocated  during  a  former  session,  providing  for  the  se- 
lection of  grounds  for  purposes  of  agriculture  and  horticulture, 
the  erection  of  buildings,  and  the  appointment  of  Professors 
and  Lecturers.  An  Institution,  he  thought,  would  thus  be 
established  similar  in  plan  and  results  to  the  Garden  of  Plants 
in  Paris. 

Mr.  Choate  was  so  anxious  for  some  organization  that  he 
stood  ready  to  vote  for  any  reasonable  proposition  which  would 
command  a  majority,  but  another  scheme,  radically  different 
from  that  proposed  by  the  bill,  seemed  to  him  so  much  to  be 
preferred,  that  on  the  8th  of  January,  1845,  he  offered,  as  an 
amendment,  what  was  called  the  Library  Plan.  The  charac- 
teristic feature  of  this  was  a  provision  that  a  sum  not  less  than 
|2O,OO0  should  be  annually  expended  for  the  purchase  of 
books  and  manuscripts  for  the  formation  of  a  Library,  which 
for  extent,  completeness,  and  value,  "  should  be  worthy  of  the 

9* 


10^  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  V. 

donor  of  the  fund,  and  of  this  nation,  and  of  this  age."  There 
were  reasons  at  that  time  for  such  a  disposition  of  the  legacy, 
which  do  not  to  the  same  extent  exist  now.  Not  a  library  in 
the  country  then  numbered  more  than  50,000  volumes,  and 
the  one  or  two  which  contained  so  many,  had  no  funds  for  their 
large  increase,  or  even  adequate  to  their  preservation.  The 
bill  thus  amended,  was  amply  discussed,  and  finally  passed  the 
Senate  January  23,  184'5.  It  being  the  short  session  of  Con- 
gress, the  subject  was  not  reached  in  the  House  in  season  for 
a  vote.  Mr.  Choate  left  the  Senate  in  March,  and  of  course 
had  no  further  public  agency  in  the  organization.  During  the 
next  session,  however,  a  new  bill,  substantially  the  same  as 
that  proposed  by  Mr.  Choate,  was  carried  through  the  House, 
mainly  by  the  exertions  of  Hon.  George  P.  Marsh,  then  a 
member  from  Vermont.  It  authorized  the  Regents  to  make 
an  appropriation  not  exceeding  an  average  of  ^25,000  annual- 
ly, for  the  formation  of  a  library,  composed  of  valuable  works 
pertaining  to  all  departments  of  human  knowledge.  Several 
other  plans  were  urged,  but  all  were  rejected,  and  the  bill  which 
passed,  took  its  final  shape  from  a  series  of  amendments  pro- 
posed by  Mr.  Marsh,  "  all  with  a  view,"  as  he  said,  "  to  direct 
the  appropriation  entirely  to  the  purposes  of  a  library."  In 
the  Senate,  the  bill  was  referred  to  a  Select  Committee,  and 
after  free  discussion  and  the  rejection  of  several  amendments, 
finally  passed  that  body  precisely  as  it  came  from  the  House. 
It  was  approved  by  the  President,  and  became  a  law  August 
10,  1846. 

It  may  be  proper  to  state  here  briefly  and  with  reference 
only  to  results,  Mr.  Choate's  subsequent  connection  with  an 
Institution  in  the  establishment  and  welfare  of  which  he  had 
taken  so  deep  an  interest.  He  was  elected  a  member  of  its 
first  Board  of  Regents ;  an  honor  eminently  due  to  his  efforts 
in  its  behalf,  and  to  the  fact  that  the  plan  of  a  library,  which 
he  had  initiated,  had  been  adopted  by  Congress.  At  the  first 
meeting  of  the  Board,  a  committee  was  appointed,  of  which 
Mr.  Choate  was  the  chairman,  to  prepare  a  report  upon  the 
formation  of  a  library,  and  in  accordance  with  their  recom- 
mendation, the  Board  appropriated  $20,000  out  of  the  interest 
of  the  fund,  for  the  purchase  of  books,  and  the  gradual  fitting 
up  of  a  library.     A  committee  was  also  raised  to  prepare  ex- 


1844-1845.]  SMITHSONIAN   INSTITUTION.  JQ.S 

tended  lists  of  books  in  different  departments  of  learning, 
proper  to  be  first  purchased.  Notwithstanding-  this  beginning, 
however,  a  strong  opposition  to  the  library  existed  amono-  the 
Regents,  some  of  whom  had,  from  the  first,  favored  a  plan 
subsequently  known  as  the  "  system  of  active  operations."  As 
a  means  of  conciliation,  it  was  voted,  early  in  the  next  year,  to 
divide  the  income  equally  between  the  two  classes  of  objects, 
the  Library,  Museum,  and  Gallery  of  Art  on  the  one  side, 
and  the  Publication  of  Transactions,  Original  Researches,  and 
Lectures,  on  the  other.  This  was  proposed  and  accepted  as  a 
compromise,  although  by  some  acquiesced  in  with  reluctance. 
Mr.  Marsh  especially,  was  so  convinced  of  its  failure  to  meet 
the  intent  of  the  law,  that  he  proposed  to  invoke  again  the  ac- 
tion of  Congress,  and  yielded  only  to  repeated  solicitations,  and 
to  a  reluctance  to  disturb  an  arrangement,  in  which  the  public 
generally  had  no  great  interest,  and  which,  it  was  hoped,  would 
conciliate  all  parties.  The  friends  of  the  original  plan  of  Con- 
gress were,  however,  doomed  to  greater  disappointment.  The 
genius  of  the  Institution  bent  to  science,  not  to  letters.  Years 
rolled  on,  and  the  library  was  suffered  to  languish  in  the  shade. 
Instead  of  a  vigorous  effort  to  increase  it  by  a  systematic  ap- 
plication of  appropriated  funds,  a  proposition  was  made  to 
annul  the  compromise  itself,  and  leave  the  apportionment  of 
the  expenditures  to  the  annual  determination  of  the  Board  of 
Regents.  A  section  of  the  law  providing  that  "  of  any  other 
moneys  accruing  as  interest  upon  the  fund,  not  appropriated, 
the  managers  may  make  such  disposal  as  they  shall  deem  best 
suited  for  promoting  the  purpose  of  the  testator,"  was  relied 
on  as  conferring  the  requisite  authority  for  this  change  of  plan. 

Of  this  proposition  Mr.  Choate  wrote  from  Boston,  Febru- 
ary 4,  1854 :  — 

"  Situated  so  far  off,  I  cannot  comprehend  the  reasons  on 
which  the  compromise  is  sought  to  be  disturbed.  It  was  the 
result  of  years  of  disagreeing  opinions,  and  of  reflections  on 
all  modes  of  administering  the  fund.  The  claims  of  the 
methods  of  publication  of  papers  and  of  the  collection  of 
books  and  specimens  of  art,  were  thoroughly  canvassed,  and 
respectively  well  understood.  The  necessity  of  reconciling 
opinions  by  concession  was  seen  to  be  coercive.  It  was  yielded 
to  and  the  matter  was  put,  as  it  was  thought,  at  rest.     It  has 


104^  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS  CHOATE.  [Chap.  V. 

been  acted  on  long  enough  to  demonstrate,  that  if  adhered  to 
honorably  and  calmly  and  permanently,  without  restlessness 
and  without  ambition,  except  to  do  good  and  to  pursue  truth 
under  and  according  to  it,  it  will  assuredly  work  out  great, 
visible,  and  enduring  results,  in  as  much  variety  of  form,  sat- 
isfactory to  as  large  a  variety  of  opinions,  as  can  be  expected 
of  anything. 

"  For  myself  I  should  deplore  any  change  in  the  distribu- 
tion of  the  fund.  I  appreciate  the  claims  of  science  on  the 
Institution ;  and  the  contributions  which,  in  the  form  of  dis- 
covery and  investigation,  under  its  able  Secretary,  it  is  making 
to  good  knowledge.  But  I  insist  that  it  owes  a  great  library 
to  the  Capital  of  the  New  World ;  something  to  be  seen,  — 
preserved,  —  and  to  grow  ;  —  into  which  shall  be  slowly,  but 
surely  and  judiciously,  gathered  the  best  thoughts  of  all  the 
civilizations.  God  forbid  that  we  should  not  have  reach, 
steadiness,  and  honor  enough  to  adhere  to  this  as  one  great 
object  of  the  fund,  solemnly  proposed,  and  never  to  be  lost 
sight  of." 

He  subsequently  opposed  this  new  plan  before  the  Board,  in 
a  speech,  of  which  there  is  no  record,  but  which  one  of  the 
Regents  said,  was  "  the  most  beautiful  that  ever  fell  from  hu- 
man lips  ;  "  and  another,  Mr.  Douglas,  added,  "  that  it  seemed 
impertinence  for  anybody  else  after  it  to  say  a  word."  It  did 
not  avail.  The  Board  was  predetermined,  and  Mr.  Choate, 
who  had  been  reelected  as  Regent  but  a  short  time  before,  at 
once  concluded  to  resign  his  position.  It  was  inconvenient  for 
him  to  attend  the  meetings,  and  having  no  longer  the  interest 
of  the  library  to  lead  him  there,  he  chose  not  to  be  even  in- 
directly responsible  for  the  proceedings.  There  were  other 
circumstances  which  urged  him  also  to  the  same  conclusion, 
among  which,  doubtless,  was  his  sympathy  with  Professor 
Jewett,  who  had  been  summarily  deprived  of  his  position  as 
Librarian.  He  accordingly  sent  his  resignation  in  the  fol- 
lowing letter :  — 

"  To  Hon.  Jesse  D.  Bkight,  President  pro  tempore  of  the  Senate,  and 

"  Hon.  Linn  Boyd,  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Representatives :  — 

"  I  take  leave  to  communicate  to  the  two  Houses  of  Congress  my  re- 
signation of  the  office  of  Regent  of  the  Smithsonian  Institution, 

"  It  is  due  to  the  body  which  has  been  pleased  to  honor  me  with  this 


1844-1845.]         RESIGNS  HIS   PLACE   AS   REGENT.  105 

trust  for  some  years,  and  has  recently  conferred  it  for  a  new  term,  to  say 
that  this  step  is  taken  not  from  any  loss  of  interest  in  the  welfare  of  that 
important  estabhshment,  but  in  part  from  the  inconvenience  experienced 
in  attending  the  meetings,  and  in  part,  also,  and  more  immediately,  from 
my  inability  to  concur  or  acquiesce  in  an  interpretation  of  the  Act  of 
Congress  constituting  the  actual  Institution  and  the  Board  of  Regents, 
which  has  been  adopted,  and  is  now  about  to  be  practically  carried  into 
administration  by  a  majority  of  the  Board.  That  act,  it  has  seemed  to 
me,  peremptorily  '  directs  a  manner,'  and  devises  and  prescribes  a  plan, 
according  to  which  it  intends  that  the  Institution  shall  accomplish  the  will 
of  the  donor.  By  the  earlier  law  accepting  the  gift.  Congress  engaged  to 
direct  such  a  manner  and  to  devise  such  a  plan,  and  pledged  the  faith  of 
the  United  States  that  the  funds  should  be  applied  according  to  such  plan 
and  such  manner.  In  fulfilment  of  that  pledge,  and  in  the  performance  of 
its  inalienable  and  incommunicable  duty  as  trustee  of  the  charity,  that 
body,  after  many  years  of  deliberation  —  from  which  it  never  sought  to 
relieve  itself  by  devolving  the  work  upon  the  discretion  of  others  —  ma- 
tured its  plan,  and  established  the  actual  Institution  to  carry  it  out.  Of 
this  plan,  the  general  features  are  sketched  with  great  clearness  and  great 
completeness  in  the  law.  Without  resorting  for  aid,  in  its  interpretation, 
to  its  parliamentary  history,  the  journals  and  debates,  the  substantial  mean- 
ing seems  to  be  palpable  and  unequivocal  in  its  terms.  By  such  aid  it  is 
rendered  quite  certain.  A  Board  of  Regents  is  created  to  administer  it. 
Some  discretionary  powers,  of  course,  are  given  to  the  Board  in  regard  of 
details,  and  in  regard  of  possil)le  surpluses  of  income  which  may  remain 
at  any  given  time,  while  the  plan  of  Congress  is  being  zealously  and 
judiciously  carried  into  effect;  but  these  discretionary  powers  are  given, 
I  think,  in  trust  for  the  plan  of  Congress,  and  as  auxiliary  to,  cooperative 
with,  and  executory  of  it.  They  were  given  for  the  sake  of  the  plan, 
simply  to  enable  the  Regents  the  more  effectually  and  truly  to  adminis- 
ter that  very  one  —  not  to  enable  them  to  devise  and  administer  another 
of  their  own,  unauthorized  in  the  terms  of  the  law,  incompatible  with  its 
announced  objects  and  its  full  development  —  not  alluded  to  in  it  any- 
where, and  which,  as  the  journals  and  the  debates  inform  us,  when  pre- 
sented to  the  House  under  specific  propositions,  was  rejected. 

"  Of  this  act  an  interpretation  has  now  been  adopted  by  which,  it  has 
seemed  to  me,  these  discretionary  means  of  carrying  the  will  of  Congress 
into  effect  are  transformed  into  means  of  practically  disappointing  that 
will,  and  of  building  uji  an  institution  substantially  unlike  that  which  it 
intended ;  which  supersedes  and  displaces  it,  and  in  effect  repeals  the 
law.  Differences  of  opinion  had  existed  in  the  Boai'd  from  its  first  meet- 
ing, in  regard  of  the  administration  of  the  act ;  but  they  were  composed 
by  a  resolution  of  compromise,  according  to  which  a  full  half  of  the  an- 
nual income  was  to  be  eventually  applied  in  permanence  to  what  I  deem 
the  essential  parts  of  the  plan  of  Congress.  That  resolution  of  compro- 
mise is  now  formally  rescinded,  and  henceforward  the  discretion  of  the 
Regents,  and  not  the  act  of  Congress,  is  to  be  the  rule  of  appropria- 
tion ;  and  that  discretion  has  already  declared  itself  for  another  plan  than 
what  I  deem  the  plan  of  Congress.  It  may  be  added  that  under  the 
same  interpretation,  the  office  and  powers  of  secretary  are  fundamentally 


106  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  V. 

changed  from  those  of  the  secretary  of  the  law,  as  I  read  it,  and  are 
greatly  enlarged. 

"  In  this  interpretation  I  cannot  acquiesce ;  and  with  entire  respect 
for  the  majority  of  the  Board,  and  with  much  kindness  and  regard  to  all 
its  members,  I  am  sure  that  my  duty  requires  a  respectful  tender  of 
resignation.     I  make  it  accordingly,  and  am 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

uixr     T      .  T^    n      T  10     iQKr;»  "  RUFUS   ChOATE." 

"  Washington,  D.  C,  January  13,  1855." 

The  reception  of  this  letter  excited  some  commotion  in 
Congress,  and  gave  rise  to  sharp  debates.  The  House  of 
Representatives  appointed  a  select  committee,  to  whom  it  was 
referred,  with  direction  to  inquire  into  the  management  and 
expenditure  of  the  funds  of  the  Institution.  The  two  letters 
which  follow,  to  the  chairman  of  the  committee,  will  show 
more  completely  Mr.  Choate's  views  and  feelings  :  — 

To  Hon.  Charles  W.  Upham. 

"Boston,  February  2,  1855. 
"  Hon.  C.  W.  Upham,  —  My  dear  Sir  :  I  happened  to  be  quite  sick 
when  your  letters  reached  me,  and  am  only  now  able  to  go  out,  without 
being  equal  to  anything.  It  would  afford  me  the  truest  pleasure  to  be 
able  to  transmit  to  the  committee  a  few  thoughts  on  the  sense  of  the  act 
of  Congress.  That,  if  read  carefully,  by  the  lights  of  its  history,  and 
with  a  mind  not  preoccupied,  it  makes  a  plan  which,  until  a  new  law  is 
passed,  the  Regents  were  bound  to  execute  heartily,  —  is,  however,  so 
clear,  that  I  do  not  see  what  can  be  added  to  the  bare  enunciation.  It 
happened  to  it  just  what  happened  to  the  Constitution.  It  was  opposed 
because  it  was  a  Library  measure,  until  it  became  a  law,  and  then  a 
metaphysics  was  applied  to  it  to  show  that  it  was  no  Library  measure 
after  all.  I  await  with  great  interest  the  proceedings  of  your  committee ; 
and,  if  my  health  will  permit,  I  mean  to  address  something,  less  or  more, 
to  the  Hon.  Chairman  as  such. 

"  I  am,  most  truly, 

"  Your  ob't  servant  and  friend, 

"  RuEus  Choate." 

To  Hon.  Charles  W.  Upham. 

"  Boston,  February  19,  1855. 
"  Dear  Mr.  Upham,  —  I  am  distressed  to  find  that  it  will  not  be  pos- 
sible for  me  to  prepare  anything  for  the  eye  of  the  Committee.  My 
engagements  are  so  uttei'ly  out  of  proportion  to  my  health,  that  I  am 
prostrated  and  imbecile  for  all  efibrt  but  the  mill-horse  walk  of  my  daily 
tasks.  It  was  never  my  purpose  to  do  more  than  discuss  the  question  of 
the  intent  of  Congress.  The  intent  of  Smithson  is  not  the  problem  now. 
It  is  the  intent  of  Congress ;  and  that  is  so  transparent,  and  is  so  evi- 
denced by  so  many  distinct  species  of  proof,  that  I  really  feel   that  I 


1844-1845].  LETTER  TO  HON.  C.  W.  UPHAM.  107 

should  insult  the  Committee  by  arguing  it.  That  Congress  meant  to  de- 
vise a  plan  of  its  own  is  certain.  The  uniform  opinion  of  men  in  Con- 
gress from  the  start  had  been  that  it  must  do  so.  Hence,  solehj,  the 
years  of  delay,  caused  by  the  difficulties  of  devising  a  plan.  AYhy  not 
have  at  once  made  a  Board,  and  devolved  all  on  them  ?  But  who  ever 
thought  of  such  a  thing?  If,  then,  Congress  would  mean,  and  had 
meant,  to  frame  a  plan,  what  is  it  ?  Nothing,  unless  it  is  that  of  collec- 
tions of  books,  specimens  of  art  and  nature,  and  possibly  lectures.  It  is 
either  these  exactly,  or  it  is  just  what  the  Regents  please.  But  it  cannot 
be  the  latter,  and  then  it  is  these. 

"  1.  These  are  provided  for  in  terms  ;  nothing  else  is.  2.  The  debates 
show  that  all  things  else  were  rejected.  3.  The  only  difficulties  are 
these  two :  1st.  It  is  said  discretionary  powers  are  given  to  the  Regents. 
Yes  ;  but  how  does  good  faith  require  these  to  be  interpreted  ?  Are 
they  limited  or  unlimited  ?  If  the  latter,  then  Congress  has  framed  and 
preferred  no  plan  of  its  own,  but  has  committed  everything  to  the  un- 
controlled fancies  of  the  Regents.  This,  if  their  discretionary  powers 
are  unlimited.  But  how  absurd  to  say  this,  against  an  act  so  loaded  with 
details,  and  whose  history  shows  it  carefully  constructed  to  embody  a 
plan  of  Congress !  If,  then,  the  discretionary  powers  are  limited,  how 
are  they  limited  ?  So  as  to  subserve  and  help  out  the  plan  of  Congress, 
primarily  and  chiefly  ;  and  when  the  good  of  that  plan  may  be  best  ad- 
vanced by  a  little  surplus  here  or  there,  they  may  do  with  that  rare  and 
exceptional  case  what  they  will.  2d.  The  second  difficulty  is,  that  the 
Regents  are  not  directed  to  expend  at  least  so  much,  but  not  above.  The 
difficulty,  as  they  put  it,  assumes  that  there  can  be  no  satisfactory  evidence 
of  a  plan  of  Congress,  unless  by  express  language  enacting,  '  this  is  the 
plan  of  Congress,'  or  '  it  is  the  intention  of  Congress,  hereby,  that  the 
income  shall  be  applied  exclusively,  so  and  so,'  or,  that  '  whether  books 
are  cheap  or  dear,  a  certain  minimum  shall  in  eveiy  year  be  laid  out 
thereon,'  or  some  other  express  equivalent  of  language.  But  this  is  fool- 
ish. If  the  whole  antecedent  action  in  Congress  from  the  first  shows 
that  Congress  understands  that  it  is  to  frame  a  plan  ;  if  the  history  of 
this  act  shows  that  everybody  thought  they  were  framing  a  plan  ;  if  then 
you  find  one  in  all  its  great  outlines  actually  sketched,  building,  spacious 
rooms,  provision  for  books  and  specimens,  &c.,  &c.,  —  constituting  de 
facto  a  plan,  sufficient  to  exhaust  the  income ;  and  if  you  find  not  a  trace 
of  any  other  mode  or  scheme,  how  absurd  to  demand,  in  addition  to  all 
this,  a  section  to  say,  '  By  the  way.  Congress  means  something  by  all 
this  pother  ;  and  it  means  that  the  plan  it  has  thus  portrayed  is  the  plan 
it  chooses  to  have  executed.'  Suppose  a  law,  in  the  first  section  author- 
izing a  ship  to  be  built  of  a  size  and  construction  specifically  adapted  to 
the  Arctic  navigation,  as  our  building  is  to  be  for  books ;  and  in  a  sec- 
ond section,  an  enactment  that  the  captain  should  cruise  not  exceeding 
ten  months  in  the  Arctic  Ocean ;  and  in  a  third,  that  if  he  have  any 
spare  time  to  cruise,  he  might  explore  any  other  sea ;  could  he  go  one 
month  to  the  Arctic,  and  then  say  he  preferred  the  Mediterranean,  and 
cruise  there  eleven  ?  But  why  not  ?  There  are  no  express  words. 
But  there  is  other  evidence  of  legislative  intent,  —  the  build  of  the  ship, 
and  the  solicitous  provision  for  a  particular  sea,  and  the  silence  about  all 


108  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  V, 

others,  and  the  stupendous  dissimilarity  in  the  two  adventures.  If,  be- 
sides, you  found  a  Congressional  history,  showing  that  everybody  under- 
stood Congress  was  selecting  its  own  sea,  motions  made  to  divide  the 
year  with  the  Mediterranean,  and  rejected,  it  would  be  altogether  quite 
the  case.  But  I  beg  your  pardon  for  these  platitudes.  I  entreat  you  to 
do  two  things:  1.  Vindicate    the    sense    of  the  law.     2.  Vindicate  art, 

taste,  learning,  genius,  mind,  history,  ethnology,  morals 

"  I  am  most  anxiously  and  faithfully  yours, 

"R.  Choate." 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  Mr.  Choate, —  author  and  success- 
ful defender  of  the  Hbrary  plan,  as  he  was,  —  suffered  a  great 
disappointment  in  the  final  disposition  of  the  fund.  He  felt  that 
it  by  no  means  met  the  purpose  of  the  Congress  that  passed 
the  act ;  and,  looking  to  permanent  and  comprehensive  effects, 
would  not  be  likely  to  secure  a  result  so  conspicuous,  so  noble, 
so  worthy  of  the  nation,  so  free  from  the  possibility  of  perver- 
sion, or  so  directly  meeting  the  great  want  of  the  learned,  cul- 
tiv^ated,  inquisitive,  and  thoughtful  throughout  the  whole  land, 
as  if  mainly  or  largely  devoted  to  a  library. 

In  the  spring  of  184<5  Mr.  Choate  lost  his  brother-in-law, 
Dr.  Sewall,  to  whom  in  early  life  he  had  been  so  much  in- 
debted for  advice  and  assistance,  and  whose  house  in  Wash- 
ington had  often  been  his  home.  The  following  letter  to  his 
relative,  Mrs.  Brinley,  who  was  then  in  Dr.  Sewall's  family, 
was  written  before  the  news  of  his  death  had  reached  Boston. 

To  Mrs.  Francis  Brinley. 

"  Thursday,  Fast  Day,  1845. 

"  My  dear  Cousin  Sarah,  —  No  one  can  express  my  obligations  to 
you  for  your  faithful  kindness  and  thoughtfulness  during  all  this  great 
affliction  at  the  Doctor's.  God  bless  you  for  it  all.  I  have  mourned 
deeply  over  the  sad  and  surprising  event,  although  I  had  again  conceived 
the  strongest  hopes  of  his  recovery.  Give  my  best  love  to  all  who  are 
alive.  I  wish  my  nephew,  Thomas,  would  convey  to  his  father,  if  living, 
my  thanks  and  profound  gratitude  for  a  life  of  kindness  to  me,  and 
would  —  as  he  will  —  soothe  his  mother If  you  leave  Washing- 
ton, and  this  change  happens  at  the  Doctor's,  it  is  a  spot  blotted  forever 

from  the  earth I  know  not  what  to  write,  because  I  know  not 

how  or  what  or  who  you  all  are.  Pray  accept  my  love,  and  give  it  to  all 
our  dear  friends.  How  happy  for  you  that  Miss  C,  so  agreeable,  so 
composed,  and  so  sympathetic,  is  with  you.     God  bless  you. 

"  R.  Choate.  " 


1845-1849.]      CASE  OF  RHODE  ISLAND  BOUNDARY.  109 


CHAPTER   VI. 

1845-1849. 

Address  before  the  Law  School  in  Cambridge  —  Argues  the  Case  of  Rhode 
Island  V.  Massachusetts  —  Defence  of  Tirrell  —  The  Oliver  Smith's  Will 
Case  —  Speaks  in  favor  of  General  Taylor — Offer  of  a  Professorship  in 
the  Cambridge  Law  School  —  Offer  of  a  Seat  upon  the  Bench  —  Defends 
Crafts  —  The  Phillips  Will  Case  —  Journal. 

On  leaving  the  Senate,  Mr.  Choate  for  a  time  bade  fare- 
well to  politics,  and  returned  without  regret  to  the  narrower 
sphere  of  the  city  and  the  courts.  He  had  become  known  for 
his  intrepid  and  successful  management  of  difficult  cases. 
These  were  often  intrusted  to  him  when  he  would  gladly  have 
avoided  the  responsibility,  if  his  sense  of  professional  duty 
would  have  allowed  ;  but  he  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  refuse 
his  services  when  properly  solicited,  merely  because  the  cause 
was  distasteful,  or  the  client  possibly  undeserving  of  sympathy. 

In  the  summer  of  this  year,  184<5,  he  delivered  an  address 
before  the  Law  School  at  Cambridge,  on  the  "  Position  and 
Functions  of  the  American  Bar  in  the  Commonwealth."  As 
this  address  will  be  found  in  these  volumes,  it  is  not  necessary 
to  speak  of  it  here.  In  January,  1846,  he  argued  before  the 
Supreme  Court  at  Washington  the  case  of  the  boundary  be- 
tween Massachusetts  and  Rhode  Island.  The  latter  State  was 
the  complainant,  and  Massachusetts  had  made  an  answer. 
Evidence  also  had  been  taken  by  the  parties,  so  that  the  case 
was  heard  upon  both  answer  and  evidence.  The  words  of  the 
Massachusetts  charter  defined  the  part  of  the  boundary  in 
question  as  "  lying  within  the  space  of  three  English  miles  on 
the  south  part  of  Charles  River,  or  of  any  or  of  every  part 
thereof ;  "  and  the  State  of  Rhode  Island  inf5isted  that  these 
words  had  been  misconstrued  and  misapplied  in  former  ad- 
justments and  agreements  about  the  line,  and  particularly 
that  mistakes  had  been  made  as  to  the  location  of  some  of 
the   ancient   stations.       The    case  disclosed  various  acts  and 

VOL.   I.  10 


110  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VI. 

proceedings  between  the  respective  governments,  from  the 
very  earliest  times,  and  thus  opened  a  wide  field  of  inquiry 
and  discussion.  "  The  case,"  says  a  correspondent,  "  was 
argued  by  Randolph  and  Whipple  for  Rhode  Island,  and 
Choate  and  Webster  for  Massachusetts,  Mr.  Randolph  oc- 
cupied three  days  in  referring  to  and  reading  ancient  grants 
and  documents.  Mr.  Choate  confined  himself  to  that  branch 
of  the  argument  resulting  from  the  two  following  points :  — 
1.  The  true  interpretation  of  the  charter.  2.  The  acts  of 
1713,  171 8,  &c.,  being  acts  of  the  State  of  Rhode  Island  of 
a  most  decisive  character.  But  these  points  went  to  the  very 
marrow  of  the  case ;  and  as  illustrated,  expanded,  and  en- 
forced by  Mr.  Choate,  with  his  remarkable  diction,  with  his 
clear  and  searching  analysis  and  his  subtle  logic,  went  far 
utterly  to  destroy  the  work  of  the  preceding  three  days. 
Every  one  who  heard  that  argument  must  have  felt  that 
there  was  something  new  under  the  sun ;  and  that  such  a 
man  as  Mr.  Choate  had  never  been  heard  in  that  court  be- 
fore." The  argument  made  a  strong  impression  upon  the 
judges.  Judge  Catron,  it  was  said,  was  so  much  struck  and 
charmed  by  it  that  it  became  a  standing  inquiry  with  him  at 
the  future  sessions  of  the  court,  whether  Choate  was  not 
coming  on  to  argue  some  question.  "  I  have  heard  the  most 
eminent  advocates,"  he  said,  "  but  he  surpasses  them  all."  It 
especially  surprised  him,  as  it  did  others,  that  the  soil  and 
climate  of  New  England  —  sterile  and  harsh  —  should  give 
birth  to  eloquence  so  fervid,  beautiful,  and  convincing.  Of 
this  argument  there  remains  no  report ;  nor  have  any  frag- 
ments of  it  been  found  among  Mr.  Choate's  manuscripts. 

In  March,  184<6,  Mr.  Choate  made  his  celebrated  defence 
of  Albert  J.  Tirrell.  He  probably  never  made  an  argument 
at  the  bar  under  circumstances  apparently  more  adverse,  nor 
one  which,  from  the  nature  of  one  part  of  the  defence,  and 
from  his  unlooked-for  success,  subjected  him  to  so  much  crit- 
icism. He  took  the  case  in  the  natural  way  of  bushiess,  being 
retained  as  for  any  other  professional  service.  With  Tirrell 
himself  he  never  exchanged  a  word  till  the  day  of  the  trial.  ^ 
The  case  was  heard  in  Boston,  before  Justices  Wilde,  Dewey, 

1  He  was  generally  averse  to  per-    inal  cases.    In  this  instance,  I  have  un- 
sonal  contact  with  his  clients  in  crim-    derstood  that  after  the  prisoner  was  in 


1845-1849.  DEFENCE    OF   TIRRELL.  m 

and  Hubbard  —  venerable,  one  of  them  for  age,  and  all  of 
them  for  experience  and  weight  of  character.  The  principal 
facts  as  developed  at  the  trial  were  the  following :  Between 
4  and  5  o'clock  on  Monday  morning,  October  i27,  1846,  a 
young  woman  named  Maria  Bickford,  was  found  dead  in  a 
house  of  bad  repute,  kept  by  one  Joel  Lawrence.  Albert 
J,  Tirrell,  a  person  of  respectable  family  and  connections,  but 
of  vicious  life,  and  already  under  indictment  for  adultery,  was 
known  to  have  been  with  her  on  the  previous  afternoon  and 
late  in  the  evening,  the  doors  of  the  house  having  been  locked 
for  the  night.  He  had  long  been  a  paramour  of  hers,  and 
for  her  company  had  forsaken  his  own  wife.  On  the  morn- 
ing spoken  of,  several  inmates  of  the  house  were  early  roused 
by  a  cry  coming  apparently  from  the  room  occupied  by  these 
persons,  followed  by  a  sound  as  of  a  heavy  body  falling  on  the 
floor.  Soon  afterwards  some  one  was  heard  going  down- 
stairs, making  an  indistinct  noise  as  if  stifled  by  smoke ;  and 
almost  immediately  those  in  the  house  were  alarmed  by  the 
smell  and  appearance  of  fire.  After  the  fire  was  extinguished, 
which  was  done  by  the  help  of  a  fireman  and  a  neighbor,  the 
body  of  Mrs.  Bickford  was  found  on  the  floor  of  the  room 
she  had  occupied,  and  where  the  fire  principally  was,  at  some 
distance  from  the  bed,  her  throat  cut  to  the  bone  from  ear  to 
ear ;  her  body  much  burnt ;  a  considerable  pool  of  blood  upon 
the  bed;  a  bowl  upon  a  wash-stand  in  the  corner  of  the  room, 
with  water  in  it,  thick  with  blood ;  marks  of  blood  upon  the 
wash-stand,  and  the  lamp  on  the  mantel-piece ;  the  bedclothes 
piled  up  in  various  places  in  the  room  and  in  the  entry,  and 
partly  consumed ;  a  bloody  razor  near  the  body  ;  also,  some 
stockings,  a  cravat,  and  a  cane,  belonging  to  Tirrell.  Besides 
this,  a  fire  had  been  kindled  in  an  adjoining  room  which  was 
not  occupied  that  night.  A  woman  in  the  next  house,  sep- 
arated from  Lawrence's  by  a  brick  partition,  was  waked  that 
morning  by  a  screech  as  from  a  grown  child ;  but  on  listen- 
ing heard  the  voice  of  a  woman ;  then  she  heard  a  strang- 
hng  noise,  and  afterwards  a  fall,  and  then  a  louder  noise. 
It  was  also  in  evidence  that  Tirrell  had  called  in  haste,  very 

thedock,  he  walked  to  the  rail  and  said,  firmative.     "Very  well,"  replied  Mr. 

"  Well,  Sir,  are  you  ready  to  make  a  C,   "  we   will   make   it,"   and    turned 

strong  push  for  life  with  me  to-day  ?  "  away  to  his  seat.     He  did  not  speak  to 

The  answer,  of  course,  was  in  the  af-  him  again. 


112  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VI. 

early  on  that  Monday  morning,  at  a  livery-stable  near  Bowdoin 
Square,  saying  that  "  he  had  got  into  trouble ;  that  somebody 
had  come  into  his  room  and  tried  to  murder  him,"  and  he 
wanted  a  vehicle  and  driver  to  take  him  out  of  town.  These 
were  furnished,  and  he  was  driven  to  Weymouth.  He  also 
had  called  between  four  and  five  o'clock  at  the  house  of  one 
Head,  in  Alden  Court,  not  far  from  the  livery-stable,  and 
asked  for  some  clothes  which  he  had  left  there,  saying  that  he 
was  going  to  Weymouth.  The  officers  who  went  in  search 
of  him  on  the  same  day  did  not  succeed  in  finding  him  ;  but 
some  months  afterwards  he  was  arrested  in  New  Orleans,  and 
brought  to  Boston  for  trial.  The  public  were  exasperated  by 
the  atrocity  of  the  deed,  were  generally  convinced  of  his  guilt, 
and  confident  that  he  would  be  convicted.  The  crime  could 
be  charged  upon  no  one  else  ;  and  the  evidence  connected  him 
with  it  so  closely  that  there  seemed  to  be  no  chance  of  escape. 
Yet,  in  spite  of  the  almost  universal  prejudgment,  and  of 
a  chain  of  circumstantial  evidence  coiling  about  the  prisoner 
which  seemed  irrefragable,  his  counsel,  by  throwing  doubt 
upon  the  testimony  of  the  government,  as  derived  in  part 
from  witnesses  of  infamous  character,  by  subtly  analyzing 
what  was  indisputable,  and  demonstrating  its  consistency  with 
a  theory  of  innocence,  by  a  skilful  combination  of  evidence 
showing  the  possibility  of  suicide,  or  of  murder  by  some  other 
hand,  and  by  a  peculiar  line  of  defence  so  singular  and  au- 
dacious that  it  seemed  almost  to  paralyze  the  prosecuting 
officer,  were  able  to  convince  the  jury,  and  I  believe  the 
court  and  the  bar,  that  he  could  not  be  legalhj  convicted.  It 
appeared,  for  the  defence,  that  Tirrell  was  subject  from  his 
youth  to  what  was  called  somnambulism ;  and  that  while  in 
this  state  he  made  strange  noises  —  a  sort  of  groan  or  screech 
—  loud  and  distressing  ;  that  he  frequently  rose  and  walked 
in  his  sleep  ;  sometimes  uttered  words  evidently  prompted  by 
dreams ;  and  that  once  he  pulled  a  companion  with  whom  he 
was  sleeping  out  of  bed,  stood  over  him  and  cried  out,  "  Start 
that  leader  !  start  that  leader,  or  I'll  cut  his  throat !  "  and  then 
walked  to  the  door  as  if  for  a  knife  that  had  been  placed  over 
the  latch  ;  that  on  the  morning  of  the  asserted  murder,  when 
he  went  to  Head's  house,  he  appeared  so  strangely  as  to 
frighten  those  who  saw  him,  and  Head  took  hold  of  him  and 


1845-1849.]  DEFENCE    OF   TIRRELL.  Hg 

shook  him,  when  he  seemed  to  wake  up  from  a  kind  of  stupor, 
and  said,  "  Sam,  how  came  I  here  ]  "  It  was  also  proved 
that  when  informed  at  Weymouth  that  he  was  charg:ed  with 
having  committed  the  murder,  he  said  that  he  would  go  to 
Boston  and  deliver  himself  up,  but  was  dissuaded  by  his 
brother-in-law,  who  furnished  him  money  to  take  him  to 
Montreal.  It  was  further  proved  that  Mrs.  Bickford,  though 
beautiful  and  fascinating,  was  inclined  to  intemperance,  was 
passionate  and  wicked,  and  often  threatened  to  take  her  own 
life  ;  that  she  was  in  the  habit  of  having  a  razor  with  her  for 
the  purpose  of  shaving  her  forehead  to  make  it  high  ;  and 
once  had  bought  a  dirk,  and  kept  it  concealed  in  her  room. 
Physicians  of  the  utmost  respectability  testified  that  the  wound 
in  the  neck  was  one  which  could  have  been  inflicted  by  the  de- 
ceased herself;  that  extraordinary  convulsive  movements  may 
be  made  after  much  of  the  blood  has  left  the  body,  while  still 
some  remains  in  the  head ;  that  from  the  nature  of  the  instru- 
ment, and  the  physical  ability  of  the  deceased,  the  death  might 
have  been  suicide ;  that  tlie  prisoner  appeared  evidently  to  be 
a  somnambulist  or  sleep-walker,  and  that  in  this  somnambulic 
state  a  person  can  dress  himself,  can  consistently  commit  a 
homicide,  set  the  house  on  fire,  and  run  out  into  the  street. 
These  were  the  strong  points  on  which  the  argument  of  Mr. 
Choate  was  based.  He  contended  that  no  motive  had  been 
shown  for  the  deed,  on  the  part  of  the  prisoner  ;  that  the 
evidence  did  not  contradict  the  idea  of  suicide  ;  that  no  ev- 
idence had  shown  that  a  third  party  had  not  done  the  deed ; 
and  that  if  committed  by  the  prisoner,  it  must  have  been  done 
while  in  the  somnambulic  state.  There  is  no  record  of  this 
extraordinary  argument.  An  imperfect  sketch  is  found  in 
some  of  the  newspapers  of  the  day,  evidently  not  exact  and 
accurate,  and  of  course  conveying  no  adequate  idea  of  the 
variety  of  power  brought  to  bear  on  the  analysis  of  the 
evidence  and  its  application,  in  overthrowing  the  theory  of  the 
government. 

Mr.  Choate  often  said  that  he  meant  to  write  out  the  ar- 
gument, the  materials  of  which  existed ;  but  he  never  carried 
this  intention  into  effect,  and  a  diligent  search  among  his 
papers  has  failed  to  discover  any  trace  of  his  brief.  But  in 
the  imperfect  notices  to  which  we  now  have  access,  we  see 

10* 


114  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VI. 

evidence  not  only  of  the  solemn  and  earnest  manner  which  the 
case  mainly  required,  and  which  he  could  render  so  impressive, 
but  also  of  that  occasional  playful  extravagance  and  witty 
allusion  with  which  he  was  accustomed  to  relieve  the  anxious 
attention  of  the  jury.  Speaking  of  a  witness  for  the  govern- 
ment, called  out  of  place,  and  after  the  defence  was  in,  he 
said,  "  Where  was  this  tardy  and  belated  witness  that  he 
comes  here  to  tell  us  all  he  knows,  and  all  he  doesn't  know, 
forty-eight  hours  after  the  evidence  for  the  defence  is  closed  ] 
Is  the  case  so  obscure  that  he  had  never  heard  of  it  1  Was 
he  ill,  or  in  custody  1  Was  he  in  Europe,  Asia,  or  Africa  ? 
Was  he  on  the  Red  Sea,  or  the  Yellow  Sea,  or  the  Black 
Sea,  or  the  Mediterranean  Sea  1  Was  he  at  Land's  End,  or 
John  O'Groat's  house?  Was  he  with  Commissioners  on  our 
north-eastern  boundary  drawing  and  defining  that  much  vexed 
boundary  line '?  Or  was  he  with  General  Taylor  and  his  army 
at  Chihuahua,  or  wherever  the  fleeting  south-western  bound- 
ary line  of  our  country  may  at  this  present  moment  be  ?  No, 
gentlemen,  he  was  at  none  of  these  places,  (comparatively  easy 
of  access,)  but  —  and  I  would  call  your  attention,  Mr.  Fore- 
man, to  the  fact,  and  urge  it  upon  your  consideration,  —  he 
was  at  that  more  remote,  more  inaccessible  region,  whence 
so  few  travellers  return  —  Roxbury." 

In  showing  a  possibility  that  the  crime  could  have  been  com- 
mitted by  a  third  person,  he  denounced  with  great  severity  and 
sarcasm  the  reckless  and  depraved  character  of  most  of  the 
persons  who  appeared  as  witnesses,  and  the  infamous  nature 
of  the  house  "  not  always  so  very  hermetically  sealed."  In  ac- 
counting for  the  position  in  which  the  body  was  found,  he 
asserted,  what  the  apparent  diversity  of  testimony  seemed  to 
bear  out,  that  all  the  particulars  and  horrors  in  that  room  on 
the  morning  of  the  homicide,  had  not  been  divulged,  and  that 
Lawrence  himself  might  have  snatched  the  body  from  the 
burning  bed.  So  by  suggestion  after  suggestion  he  threw 
suspicion  over  the  theories  of  the  government  or  diminished 
the  credibility  of  its  witnesses.  In  the  argument  for  somnam- 
bulism, he  produced  a  great  impression  by  a  quotation.  "  I 
beg  leave  of  the  court  to  read,  as  illustrative  of  my  point  of 
argument  here,  a  passage  from  a  good  old  book,  which  used 
to  lie  on  the  shelves  of  our  good  old  fathers  and  mothers,  and 


1845-1849.1  DEFENCE    OF   TIRRELL.  ]  15 

which  they  were  wont  devoutly  to  read.  This  old  book  is 
'  Hervey's  Meditations,'  and  I  have  borrowed  it  from  my 
mother  to  read  on  this  occasion.  '  Another  signal  instance 
of  a  Providence  intent  upon  our  welfare,'  (says  that  writer,) 
'  is,  that  we  are  preserved  safe  in  the  hours  of  slumber.  .  .  . 
At  these  moments  we  lie  open  to  innumerable  perils  :  perils 
from  the  resistless  rage  of  flames  ;  perils  from  the  insidious 
artifices  of  thieves,  or  the  outrageous  violence  of  robbers ; 
perils  from  the  irregular  worJcings  of  our  own  thoughts^  and 
especially  from  the  incursions  of  our  spiritual  enemy.  .  .  , 
Will  the  candid  reader  excuse  me,  if  I  add  a  short  story,  or 
rather  a  matter  of  fact,  suitable  to  the  preceding  remark  1 
Two  persons  who  had  been  hunting  together  in  the  day  slept 
together  the  following  night ;  one  of  them  was  renewing  his 
pursuit  in  his  dream,  and  having  run  the  whole  circle  of  the 
chase,  came  at  last  to  the  fall  of  the  stag.  Upon  this  he  cries 
out  with  determined  ardor,  "  I'll  kill  him,  I'll  kill  him,"  and 
immediately  feels  for  the  knife  which  he  carried  in  his  pocket. 
His  companion  happening  to  be  awake,  and  observing  what 
passed,  leaped  from  the  bed.  Being  secure  from  danger, 
and  the  moon  shining  bright  into  the  room,  he  stood  to 
view  the  event,  when,  to  his  inexpressible  surprise,  the  infat- 
uated sportsman  gave  several  deadly  stabs  in  the  very  place 
where,  a  moment  before,  the  throat  and  the  life  of  his  friend 
lay.  This  I  mention  as  a  proof,  that  nothing  hinders  us, 
even  from  being  assassins  of  others  or  murderers  of  our- 
selves, amid  the  mad  follies  of  sleep,  only  the  preventing  care 
of  our  Heavenly  Father.  .  .  .  O  !  the  unwearied  and  conde- 
scending goodness  of  our  Creator  !  who  lulls  us  to  our  rest,  by 
bringing  on  the  silent  shades,  and  plants  his  own  ever- watch- 
ful eye  as  our  sentinel,  while  we  enjoy  the  needful  repose.' " 
In  his  exordium,  alluding  to  the  certainty  that  death  would 
follow  a  verdict  of  guilty,  he  said,  "  Every  juror,  when  he 
puts  into  the  urn  the  verdict  of  '  guilty,'  writes  upon  it  also, 
'  Let  him  die.'  "  In  the  solemn  and  beautiful  peroration,  he, 
as  it  were,  summed  up  his  appeal  in  these  words  :  "  Under 
the  iron  law  of  old  Rome,  it  was  the  custom  to  bestow  a  civic 
wreath  on  him  who  should  save  the  life  of  a  citizen.  Do  your 
duty  this  day,  gentlemen,  and  you  too  may  deserve  the  civic 
crown." 


116  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VI. 

The  verdict  of  the  jury,  after  a  dehheration  of  less  than  two 
hours,  was  "  Not  Guilty,"  a  verdict  which  has  been  generally 
acquiesced  in  by  the  legal  profession  as  the  only  one  which  the 
evidence  would  warrant,  though  at  the  commencement  of  the 
trial  few  could  have  supposed  it  possible.  Mr.  Choate  suf- 
fered somewhat  in  the  general  estimation  from  the  argument 
drawn  from  somnambulism.  That,  however,  was  a  suggestion 
of  the  friends  of  the  accused,  accepted  by  the  counsel  and  em- 
ployed to  the  best  of  his  ability,  like  any  other  capital  fact. 
The  foreman  of  the  jury  stated  that  the  question  of  somnam- 
bulism did  not  enter  into  the  consideration  of  the  jury,  and 
had  not  the  public  been  disappointed  and  almost  shocked  by 
the  result  of  the  trial,  we  should  probably  have  heard  less 
criticism  of  the  methods  of  the  advocate. 

As  this  case  must  take  rank  among  the  most  celebrated  in 
our  country,  for  the  audacity  of  the  crime,  for  the  pervading 
anxiety  that  the  criminal  should  not  escape,  as  well  as  for  the 
power,  brilliancy,  and  unexpected  success  of  the  defence,  it  is 
much  to  be  regretted  that  no  good  report  of  it  was  ever  made. 
No  description,  or  statement  of  legal  points,  can  enable  one  to 
reproduce  the  scenes,  or  feel  the  power  by  which  the  jury  were 
brought  so  soon  to  their  verdict  of  deliverance. 

Although  acquitted  on  the  charge  of  murder,  Tirrell  was 
still  under  an  indictment  for  arson.  On  this  charge  he  was 
tried  before  Judges  Shaw,  Wilde,  and  Dewey  in  January, 
184'7.  This  trial,  though  of  less  celebrity  than  the  first,  was 
hardly  less  important  or  difficult.  Nor  was  the  ability  of  the 
defence  less  conspicuous.  Every  one  noticed  the  hopeful  and 
confident  tone  with  which  Mr.  Choate  opened  his  argument. 
He  moved  as  if  sure  of  success.  Having  thus,  as  by  a  mag- 
netic influence,  removed  the  pressure  of  doubt  and  apprehen- 
sion, he  proceeded  to  review  the  evidence,  which  was  nearly 
the  same  as  in  the  former  trial,  with  the  addition  of  one  wit- 
ness, who  swore  that  she  was  in  Lawrence's  house  that  night 
and  saw  Tirrell  going  out  between  four  and  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  This  new  testimony,  so  important  if  true,  damaged 
the  case  for  the  government  by  throwing  doubt  upon  the  credi- 
bility of  the  other  witnesses,  Lawrence  having  before  sworn 
that  no  one  was  in  his  house  that  night  but  those  who  appeared 
on  the  stand.     Mr.  Choate  argued  that  there  was  no  proof  of 


1845-1849.]  THE   SMITH  WILL   CASE.  Jjy 

arson  at  all ;  no  proof  of  an  intent  to  set  the  fire  ;  it  mio-lit 
have  been  done  by  Lawrence  himself  by  accident ;  if  done  by 
Tirrell  at  all,  it  might  have  been  done  in  a  somnambulic  state. 
He  had  no  motive  for  the  crime.  "  He  was  fascinated  by  the 
wiles  of  the  unhappy  female  whose  death  was  so  awful  ;  he 
loved  her  with  the  love  of  forty  thousand  brothers^  though  alas, 
it  was  not  as  pure  as  it  was  passionate."  He  argued  again 
that  Mrs.  Bickford  might  have  died  by  her  own  hand.  "  If 
the  jury,"  he  said.  "  are  governed  by  the  clamor  raised  by  a 
few  without  the  court-house,  I  must  look  upon  the  prisoner  as 
in  the  position  of  one  of  those  unfortunates  on  board  the  ill- 
fated  'Atlantic'  He  was  tossed  upon  the  waters — struck  out 
boldly  and  strongly  in  the  wintry  surge,  was  washed  within 
reach  of  the  ragged  beach,  and  with  one  hand  upon  the  crag, 
was  offering  up  thanksgiving  for  his  safety,  when  the  waves 
overtook  him  and  he  was  swept  back   to  death." 

"  There  is  a  day,  gentlemen,"  he  said  in  conclusion,  "  when 
all  these  things  will  be  known.  When  the  great  day  has  ar- 
rived and  the  books  are  opened,  it  will  then  be  known.  But, 
gentlemen,  let  not  your  decision  be  then  declared  in  the  face 
of  the  world,  to  be  a  judicial   murder." 

The  charge  to  the  jury  by  Chief  Justice  Shaw,  discrediting 
the  government  witnesses  on  account  of  disreputable  charac- 
ters and  discrepancy  of  testimony,  was  favorable  to  the  pris- 
oner, who  was  again  acquitted.  It  was  wittily  said  afterwards 
that  "  Tirrell  existed  only  by  the  sufferance  of  Choate." 

In  July,  1847,  Mr.  Choate  argued,  at  Northampton,  the 
Oliver  Smith's  will  case.  Mr.  Smith  died  a  bachelor  at  nearly 
eighty  years  of  age,  leaving  an  estate  which  was  inventoried  at 
^370,000.  This  he  disposed  of  by  a  will  creating  a  variety 
of  charities  which  many  people  regarded  as  unwise  and  useless. 
He  had  a  number  of  relations  who  had  expected  generous 
legacies.  Some  of  them  were  needy ;  to  others  he  was  under 
obligations  of  kindness,  and  all  of  them  felt  that  it  \vas  right  to 
defeat  the  will,  if  it  could  legally  be  done.  There  was  but  one 
point  at  which  an  attack  seemed  to  offer  any  chance  of  success. 
One  of  the  witnesses  to  the  will  had  lived  so  secluded  from 
society,  and  had  conducted  himself  so  singularly,  that  he  was 
reputed  to  be  insane.  If  it  could  be  shown  that  he  was  insane 
at  the  time  the  will  was  made,  he  would  of  course  be  incom- 


118  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VI. 

peteiit  and  the  will  would  fail.  But  the  fact  that  he  avoided 
intercourse  with  everybody  not  belonging  to  his  own  family, 
made  it  difficult  to  obtain  evidence.  The  heirs  at  law  deter- 
mined, however,  to  appeal  from  the  decree  of  the  Probate 
Court  which  approved  the  will,  on  the  ground  that  it  was  not 
attested  by  three  competent  witnesses.  For  the  heirs  appeared 
Mr.  Choate,  R.  A.  Chapman,  and  C.  P.  Huntington.  For  the 
executors,  Daniel  Webster,  C.  E.  Forbes,  and  Osmyn  Baker. 
The  court-room  was  crowded  as  densely  as  men  and  women 
could  sit  and  stand.  The  evidence  was  decisive  that  a  year 
before  the  will  was  made,  the  witness  was  regarded  by  the 
Superintendent  of  the  State  Asylum  as  insane,  but  at  the 
period  in  question,  the  evidence  though  conflicting,  was  in  his 
favor.  He  himself  was  put  upon  the  stand,  and  sustained  by 
the  presence  of  his  powerful  counsel,  gained  much  by  his  ap- 
pearance. There  is  no  report  of  the  arguments  on  this  in- 
teresting trial,  but  I  am  able  to  give  the  impression  made  upon 
the  mind  of  an  able  lawyer  who  was  present  and  indirectly 
opposed  to  Mr.  Choate.^ 

"  Though  I  took  no  active  part  in  the  trial  of  the  '  Smith 
Will  Case,'  I  was  engaged  somewhat  in  the  antecedent  prepa- 
ration and  thus  brought  nearer  than  1  otherwise  might  have 
been,  to  the  great  leaders  on  that  occasion.  ...  I  had  never 
till  then  seen  or  heard  Mr.  Choate,  when  opposed  to  Mr. 
Webster  before  the  jury.  It  was  a  ca.se,  moreover,  where,  at 
the  start,  he  must  have  felt  how  desperately  the  odds  were 
against  him  on  the  merits,  and  how  necessary  it  was  in  the 
presence  of  a  thronged  court-house  of  new  hearers,  and  of 
such  an  antagonist,  that  his  genius  should  not  falter ;  and 
surely  his  exhaustless  resource  never  responded  more  prod- 
igally to  his  call.  He  spoke  for  three  hours,  as,  it  seems  to 
me,  never  man  spake.  Mr.  Webster,  on  the  contrary,  after 
a  certain  critical  point  in  the  production  of  the  evidence  was 
passed,  felt  that  he  had  an  easy  case  and  a  sure  victory.  I 
thought  there  was  on  his  part  rather  an  affectation  of  serenity 
—  of  deliberateness  and  even  homeliness  of  address  —  an  ef- 
fort at  self-suppression,  perhaps,  as  if  studying  more  to  divert 
thejuryby  the  contrasted  manner  of  the  men  before  them, 
than  to  rival  his  adversary  in  any  of  the  subtle  or  fascinating 
1  Hon.  Charles  Delano. 


1845-1849.]  THE    SMITH  WILL    CASE.  Jjg 

arts  of  oratory.  There  were  in  fact  only  two  or  three  pas- 
sages in  Mr.  Webster's  speech  where  he  seemed  to  startle  the 
bewildered  twelve,  by  a  power  at  all  proportioned  to  his  fame. 
And  if  the  verdict  had  been  taken  before  the  charge,  the  result 
would  have  been  doubtful.  But  the  dry  and  utterly  passion- 
less analysis  of  the  evidence  by  old  Judge  Wilde,  made  the 
jury  soon  to  see  how  narrowly  they  had  escaped  finding  an 
impulsive,  if  not  a  foolish  verdict.  I  speak  of  course  with  the 
biases  of  a  retainer  against  Mr.  Choate's  side. 

."  You  will  observe  that  the  single  issue  on  the  trial  was, 
whether  the  third  witness  to  the  will  was,  or  was  not,  of  suf- 
ficient mental  soundness  at  the  time  of  attestation.  This  wit- 
ness was  a  young  man  just  out  of  college,  —  the  son  of  a 
gentleman  of  intelligence,  education,  and  of  the  highest  re- 
spectability, but  a  noted  hypochondriac,  and  the  grandson  of 
that  chief  of  hypochondriacs,  not  less  than  of  justices,  The- 
ophilus  Parsons,  of  the  Massachusetts  Bench. 

"  Mr.  Choate  converted  these  incidents  into  one  of  his  finest 
episodes.  He  gave  us  the  Chief  Justice  in  his  most  exalted 
intellectual  frame  ;  but  then  how  ingeniously  did  he  darken 
the  canvas  with  all  the  horrors  of  that  great  man's  morbid 
delusions !  Surely  the  jury  were  not  to  believe  that  a  malady 
thus  foreshadowed,  when  added  to  and  aggravated  by  the 
channel  of  transmission,  could  issue  in  anything  less  than 
necessary  and  utter  mental  overthrow !  His  theory  might 
have  gained  assent,  had  it  not  been  that  the  questionable  wit- 
ness was  himself  in  court.  His  whole  demeanor  and  expres- 
sion, however,  were  those  of  a  man  absorbed  in  melancholy  ; 
and  I  think  Mr.  Choate's  side  had,  from  the  outset,  staked 
their  expectations  upon  the  miscarriage  of  this  witness  on  the 
stand.  In  the  first  place,  would  the  party  setting  up  the  will 
dare  to  call  him  \  If  not,  it  would  be  a  confession  of  at  least 
present  incompetency.  If  they  should,  how  probable  that  so 
consummate  a  cross-examiner  would  easily  reach  the  clew  to 
his  distractions,  and  thus  topple  him  from  any  momentary  self- 
possession.  It  was  in  taking  this  timid  and  reluctant  witness 
into  his  own  hands,  and  bringing  him  to  feel  that  he  was  tes- 
tifying under  the  shelter  of  the  great  '  Defender  '  himself,  that 
Mr.  Webster  figured  more  conspicuously  than  in  any  other 
part  of  the  case.     Thus  borne  up  and  through  a  long  direct 


1<20  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS    CHOATE.  [Chap.  VI. 

examination,  he  braved  the  cross-examination  with  perfect 
composure.  This  was  the  critical  point  of  the  case  to  which  I 
have  before  alluded.  I  know  I  am  spinning-  out  this  note  to  a 
merciless  length,  but  my  apology  is,  that  reminiscences  of  Mr. 
Choate  are  among  the  most  delightful  memories  of  the  law- 
yer. Few  who  have  ever  known  him  can  dwell  upon  his 
death  otherwise  than  as  upon  a  personal  and  domestic  afflic- 
tion ;  and  I  count  it  among  the  chief  felicities  of  my  life,  not 
merely  to  have  heard  him  at  the  Bar,  but  to  have  seen  him  in 
his  office,  had  a  glimpse  of  him  at  home  among  his  books, 
and  listened  to  him  at  his  fireside." 

Mr.  Webster  and  Mr.  Choate  were  often  very  playful 
towards  each  other  during  this  trial,  as  they  usually  were  when 
engaged  together  in  the  same  case.  "  My  position,"  said  one 
of  the  junior  counsel,^  "  happened  to  be  between  them ;  and 
as  it  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  seen  them  opposed  to  each 
other,  I  was  not  a  careless  observer  of  either.  Mr.  Choate 
seemed  to  know  Mr.  Webster's  ways  thoroughly ;  and  I  was 
sometimes  amused  by  the  shrewd  cautions  he  gave  me.  Mr. 
Webster  laughed  at  him  about  his  handwriting,  telling  him  his 
notes  were  imitations  of  the  antediluvian  bird-tracks.  While 
he  was  making  his  argument,  Mr.  Webster  repeatedly  called 
my  attention  in  a  whisper  to  his  striking  passages.  He  once 
asked  me  in  respect  to  one  of  them,  '  How  do  you  suppose  I 
can  answer  that  1 '  And  once  when  he  used  the  word  '  abnor- 
mal,' Mr.  Webster  said,  '  Didn't  I  tell  you  he  would  use  the 
word  "  abnormal  "  before  he  got  through  ?  He  got  it  in  col- 
lege, and  it  came  from  old  President  Wheelock.'  ....  After 
the  trial  was  over,  Mr.  Webster  spoke  very  freely  of  Mr. 
Choate,  in  a  private  conversation  at  our  hotel,  and  expressed 
the  highest  admiration  of  him.  He  said  he  often  listened  to 
him  with  wonder ;  and  that  when  he  argued  cases  at  Wash- 
ington, the  judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  expressed  their 
amazement  at  the  brilliancy  and  power  of  his  oratory,  even  in 
the  discussion  of  dry  legal  points.  He  said  they  had  often 
mentioned  it  to  him." 

It  was  understood  that  in  this  case  the  jury  stood  at  first, 

1  Hon.  Reuben  A.  Chapman,  now  one  of  the  Judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
Massachusetts. 


1845-1849.]  SPEECH    AT   BROOKLINE.  jgj 

ten  for  the  will,  and  two  against  it ;  on  the  third  ballot  they 
agreed. 

In  the  political  campaign  of  1848,  which  resulted  in  the 
election  of  Gen.  Taylor,  Mr.  Choate  took  a  prominent  and 
willing  part.  In  the  character  and  life  of  Gen.  Taylor,  his 
modesty  and  integrity,  his  capacity  in  extraordinary  eniero-en- 
cies,  his  courage,  his  unobtrusive  patriotism,  and  his  brilliant 
victories,  there  was  much  to  awaken  enthusiasm  as  well  as  to 
command  respect.  The  speeches  of  Mr.  Choate  before  the 
election  are  among  the  most  effective  he  ever  made  in  this 
style  of  ephemeral  political  oratory.  With  a  sound  substra- 
tum of  judicious  thought  and  argument,  they  fairly  effervesce 
with  wit  and  raillery. 

One  of  these  was  made  at  Brookline.  "  He  had  been  a 
week,"  writes  a  gentleman  who  went  with  hiiu  to  the  place, 
''  preparing  his  oration,  and  was  well-nigh  used  up.  He  got 
into  the  coach,  his  locks  dripping  with  dissolved  camphor,  and 
complained  of  a  raging  headache.  He  clutched  his  temple 
with  his  hand,  and  leaned  his  head  on  my  shoulder,  to  see  if 
he  could  not,  by  reclining,  find  ease.  Just  as  we  touched  the 
Mill  Dam,  the  evening  moon  poured  her  level  rays  over  the 
beautiful  waters  of  the  Back  Bay,  and  filled  the  coach  and 
atmosphere  with  dreamy  light.  The  scene  instantly  revived 
him.  Hg  put  his  head  out  of  the  coach  window,  and  was 
absorbed  with  the  sweetness  of  the  view.  The  sight  of  the 
still  w^aters,  moon-lighted,  seemed  to  drive  away  his  pain,  and 
he  struck  into  his  old.  rapture.  In  the  hall  where  he  spoke, 
he  was  in  his  very  best  mood ;  both  mind  and  body  seeming  to 
be  on  wings.  ...  As  we  rode  home  in  the  soft  moonlight,  he 
amazed  me  with  his  vast  power  of  thought.  I  have  seen  men 
stirred  with  passion  ;  men  eloquent ;  men  profound  and  brilliant 
in  conversation  ;  but  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life  I  never 
saw  a  man  more  roused  than  was  he.  He  poured  out,  with- 
out stopping,  a  torrent  of  conversation  upon  history,  constitu- 
tional law,  philosophy,  poetry  ;  upon  Burke,  Plato,  Hamilton, 
the  future  of  the  Union.  No  other  word  would  exjjlain  his 
style  but  '  torrent '  or  '  cataract ;  '  for  what  he  spoke  in  that 
hour  would,  have  made  a  small  volume,  —  brilliant  and  full  of 
philosophy  and  learning.  And  I  think  that  I  never  realized 
so  much  as  then  the  power  and  unapproachableness  of  genius ; 

VOL.    I,  11 


1^2  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VI. 

and  yet  the  man  —  though  so  burning  up  and  absorbed  with 
his  subjects  of  conversation  —  was  true  to  his  gentle  instincts. 
His  daughter  lay  ill  at  home ;  and  in  Summer  Street,  at  a 
long  distance  from  his  house  in  Winthrop  Place,  he  bade  the 
coachman  stop  to  allow  him  to  walk  to  his  door,  so  that  the 
noise  of  the  carriage  might  not  disturb  her  ;  insisting,  at  the 
same  time,  against  my  request  to  the  contrary,  that  the  coach 
should  carry  me  home,  though  I  lived  in  a  different  part  of 
the  city." 

Besides  this,  he  addressed  a  mass  meeting  at  Worcester, 
and  spoke  twice  at  Salem, — the  second  time  on  the  presen- 
tation of  a  banner  bearing  on  one  side  the  inscription,  "Pre- 
sented to  the  Taylor  Club  by  the  Ladies  of  Salem,  Oct.  17? 
1848,"  and  on  the  other,  a  representation  of  Gen.  Taylor 
giving  relief  to  a  wounded  Mexican,  with  the  words  "  Honor 
— Patriotism  —  Humanity."  The  assembly  was  brilliant 
even  for  that  city,  and  greeted  him  with  the  fervor  of  friends. 
The  applause  subsiding,  he  addressed  the  chairman  of  the  Club 
in  words  of  beauty  which  foreshadow  what  became  afterwards 
the  very  heart  of  his  political  life. 

"  It  has  been  supposed.  Sir,  by  that  better  portion  of  this 
community,  the  ladies  of  Salem,  that  it  would  not  be  unpleas- 
ing  to  the  association  of  Whigs,  over  which  you  preside,  to 
pause  for  an  hour  from  the  austerer  duties  of  the^time,  and 
to  be  recreated  by  receiving  at  their  hands  an  expression 
of  that  kind  of  sympathy  which  man  needs  most,  and  a 
tender  of  that  kind  of  aid  which  helps  him  farthest,  longest, 
and  most  gratefully,  —  the  sympathy  and  approval  of  our 
mothers,  wives,  sisters,  daughters,  and  those,  all,  whom  most 
we  love.  Under  that  impression  they  have  prepared  this  ban- 
ner, and  have  requested  me  to  present  it,  as  from  them,  to  you. 
With  a  request  so  grateful,  from  its  nature  and  source,  I  am 
but  too  happy  to  comply 

"  I  give  you,  from  the  ladies  of  this  Salem,  —  the  holy  and 
beautiful  city  of  peace,  —  a  banner  of  peace  !  Peace  has  her 
victories,  however,  as  well  as  war.  I  give  you,  then,  I  hope 
and  believe,  the  banner  of  a  victory  of  peace.  The  work  of 
hands,  some  of  which  you  doubtless  have  given  away  in  mar- 
riage at  the  altar, —  the  work  of  hands,  for  which  many  altars 
might  contend  !   some  of  which  have  woven  the  more  immor- 


1845-1849.]   ADDRESS  TO  THE  TAYLOR  CLUB  OF  SALEM.    Igg 

tal  web  of  thought  and  recorded  speech,  making  the  mind  of 
Salem  as  renowned  as  its  beauty, — the  work  of  such  liands 
embodying  their  general  and  warm  appreciation  of  your  exer- 
tions, and  their  joy  in  your  prospects  ;  conveying  at  once  the 
assurance  of  triumph  and  the  consolations  of  possible  defeat ; 

—  expressive  above  all  of  their  pure  and  considered  moral 
judgments  on  the  great  cause  and  the  Good  Man  !  —  the 
moral  judgments  of  these,  whose  frown  can  disappoint  the 
proudest  aim,  whose  approbation  prosper  not  less  tiian  ours; 

—  the  work  of  such  hands,  the  gift  of  such  hearts,  the  record 
of  such  moral  sentiments,  the  symbol  of  so  many  sensibilities 
and  so  many  hopes,  you  will  prize  it  more  than  if  woven  of 
the  tints  of  a  summer  evening  sunset,  inscribed  and  brought 
down  to  earth  by  viewless  artists  of  the  skies. 

"  Prizing  it  on  all  reasons,  I  think  you  are  too  much  a  Whig 
not  to  derive,  in  receiving  it,  a  peculiar  pleasure  from  this  con- 
sideration, that  it  expresses  the  judgments  of  this  portion  of 
the  community  on  the  personal  qualities  and  character  of  Gen. 
Taylor.  It  expresses  their  judgments  in  favor  of  those  qual- 
ities and  that  character.  It  assures  us  that  we  are  not  mis- 
taken in  the  man  himself.  It  assures  us  that  we  are  right  in 
believing  him  just,  incorrupt,  humane  ;  of  large  heart,  as  well 
as  clear  head,  —  whose  patriotism  knows  neither  Alleghanies 
nor  Mississippi,  nor  Rocky  Mountains,  embracing  our  whole 
America,  —  from  whom  twenty  thousand  Mexicans  could  not 
wrest  the  flag  of  his  country,  yet  whom  the  sight  of  a  single 
Mexican  soldier,  wounded  and  athirst  at  his  feet,  melts,  in  a 
moment,  to  the  kindness  of  a  woman. 

"  I  do  not  suppose  that  I  enter  on  any  delicate  or  debatable 
region  of  social  philosophy,  sure  I  am  that  I  concede  away 
nothing  which  I  ought  to  assert  for  our  sex,  when  I  say  that 
the  collective  womanhood  of  a  people  like  our  own,  seizes  with 
matchless  facility  and  certainty  onfhe  moral  and  personal  pecu- 
liarities and  character  of  marked  and  conspicuous  men,  and 
that  we  may  very  wisely  address  ourselves  to  her  to  learn  if 
a  competitor  for  the  highest  honors  may  boast,  and  has  re- 
vealed, that  truly  noble  nature  that  entitles  him  to  a  place 
among  the  cherished  regards,  a  niche  among  the  domestic 
religions,  a  seat  at  the  old  hearths,  a  home  in  the  hearts  of  a 
nation. 


124  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VI 

"  We  talk  and  think  of  measures  ;  of  creeds  in  politics  ;  of 
availability ;  of  strength  to  carry  the  vote  of  Pennsylvania,  or 
the  vote  of  Mississippi.  Through  all  this  her  eye  seeks  the 
moral,  prudential,  social  and  mental  character  of  the  man  him- 
self, —  and  she  finds  it. 

"  All  the  glare  and  clamor  of  the  hundred  victories  of  Na- 
poleon,—  all  the  prestige  of  that  unmatched  intellect,  and  that 
fortune  and  that  renown,  more  than  of  the  children  of  earth 
—  while  they  dazzled  the  senses,  and  paled  the  cheek  of  man- 
hood —  could  not  win  him  the  love  and  regards  of  the  matron- 
age  of  France.  The  worship  of  Madame  de  Stael  was  the 
idiosyncrasy  of  an  idolatress  of  genius,  glory,  and  power,  — 
and  she  paid  it  alone. 

"  But  when  the  Father  of  his  Country,  our  Washington, 
arrived,  on  his  way  to  the  seat  of  Government,  at  that  bridge 
of  Trenton,  how  sure  and  heart-prompted  was  the  recogni- 
tion, by  the  mothers  and  daughters  of  America,  of  that  great- 
ness which  is  in  goodness,  and  of  the  daily  beauty  of  that 
unequalled  life.  Those  flowers  with  which  they  strewed  his 
path,  while  they  sung  that  ode,  —  that  laurel  and  evergreen 
which  tbey  twined  on  arch  and  pillar  for  him  to  pass  beneath, 
had  not  found  the  needful  air  and  light  and  soil  in  which 
they  had  sprung  with  a  surer  affinity  than  these  had  detected 
and  acknowledged  the  sublimity  of  the  virtues,  the  kindness, 
the  parental  love,  the  justice,  the  honesty,  the  large  American 
heart,  that  made  his  '  fame  whiter  than  it  was  brilliant.' 

"  I  hear  then,  with  pleasure  not  to  be  expressed,  this  testi- 
mony—  from  such  a  source' — to  the  candidate  of  our  choice. 
I  appreciate  the  discernment  that  has  contrived  this  device,  and 
written  this  inscription.  Right  and  fit  it  is,  that  such  praise 
as  theirs  should  commemorate  his  Honor^  who  has  done  so 
much  to  fill  the  measure  of  his  country's  glory,  —  his  Patriot- 
mn,  on  whose  heart  her  love  has  burned  in  youth,  in  man- 
hood, ever  bright  as  on  an  altar, — his  Humanity^  in  whose 
regards  this  cup  of  water,  pressed  to  the  lip  of  the  wounded 
prisoner,  is  a  sweeter  memory  than  the  earthquake  voice  of 
many  campaigns  of  victory  ! 

"  There  are  three  more  traits  of  his  character,  three  more 
fruits  of  his  election,  which  the  authors  of  this  Gift  discern 
and  appreciate. 


1845-1849.]   ADDRESS  TO  THE  TAYLOR  CLUB  OF  SALEM.     Ig^ 

.  "  They  expect,  first,  that  his  will  be  an  administration  of 
honorable  peace.  The  experiences  of  war  have  more  than 
sated  him  of  that  form  of  duty  and  that  source  of  fame. 
From  many  a  bloody  day  and  field  —  too  many  —  he  turns  to 
win  a  victory  of  peace.  He  seeks  to  set  on  that  brow  a  gar- 
land—  amaranthine  and  blameless  —  compared  to  which  the 
laurels  that  a  Caesar  reaps  are  weeds 

"  They  expect,  next,  that  his  administration  will  be  illus- 
trated by  the  true  progress  of  America.  .  .  .  They  expect 
to  see  it  cooperating,  as  far  as  it  may,  with  the  spirit  of 
Humanity  in  achieving  the  utmost  measure  of  good,  of  great- 
ness, of  amelioration,  of  happiness,  of  which  philanthropy  and 
patriotism  may  dare  to  dream.  And  thus  they  look  to  an  ad- 
ministration of  progress.  But  progress,  in  their  view  and  in 
yours,  does  not  consist,  and  is  not  exemplified,  in  adding,  every 
three  or  four  years,  to  our  already  imperial  area,  a  country  three 
times  larger  than  all  France,  and  leaving  it  a  desert ;  but  in 
decorating  and  building  up  what  we  have.  Their  idea  of  prog- 
ress, therefore,  and  yours,  embraces  a  twofold  sentiment,  and 
a  twofold  exertion  :  first,  to  improve  the  land  and  water,  —  to 
bring  out  the  material  resources  of  America ;  and  next,  to  im- 
prove the  mind  and  heart  of  America;  diffusing  thus  over  her 
giant  limbs  and  features  the  glow  and  grace  of  moral  beauty 
—  as  morning  spread  upon  the  mountains 

'•  They  expect,  finally,  that  his  administration  will  be  memo- 
rable for  having  strengthened  and  brightened  the  golden  chain 
of  the  American  Union.  They  expect  that,  under  the  sobriety 
of  his  patriotism,  that  Union  will  neither  be  sapped  by  the  ex- 
pansion of  our  area,  until  identity,  nationality,  and  the  possibil- 
ity of  all  cohesion  of  the  members  are  lost,  nor  rent  asunder  by 
the  desperate  and  profligate  device  of  geographical  parties.  — 
They  and  we,  Sir,  of  that  Union,  deem  all  alike.  We  too 
stand  by  the  shipping-articles  and  the  ship  the  whole  voyage 
round.  We  hold  that  no  increase  of  our  country's  area,  — 
although  we  hope  never  to  see  another  acre  added  to  it ;  no 
transfer  and  no  location  of  our  centre  of  national  power,  —  al- 
though we  hope  never  to  see  it  leave  the  place  where  now  it 
is ;  no  accession  of  new  stars  on  our  sky  —  were  they  to 
come  in  constellations,  thronging,  till  the  firmament  were  in 
a  blaze ;  that  none  of  these  things  should  have  power  to 
11* 


126  MEMOIR  OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VI. 

whisper  to  one  of  us  a  temptation  to  treason.  We  go  for  the 
Union  to  the  last  beat  of  the  pulse  and  the  last  drop  of  blood. 
We  know  and  feel  that  there  —  there  —  in  that  endeared 
name  —  beneath  that  charmed  Flag  —  among  those  old  glori- 
ous graves,  in  that  ample  and  that  secure  renown, — that  there 
we  have  garnered  up  our  hearts — -there  we  must  either  live^ 
or  hear  no  life.  With  our  sisters  of  the  Republic,  less  or 
more,  we  would  live  and  we  would  die,  —  '  one  hope,  one  lot, 
one  life,  one  glory.'  " 

The  subsequent  election  of  General  Taylor  gave  to  Mr. 
Choate  the  greatest  delight.  It  seemed  to  him,  indeed,  a 
triumph  of  Honor,  Patriotism,  Humanity.  On  the  evening 
when  the  intelligence  was  received  that  made  the  matter  cer- 
tain, he  said  to  a  friend  who  called  to  see  him :  —  "Is  not  this 
sweet]  Is  it  not  sweet?  The  whole  country  seems  to  me  a 
garden  to-night,  from  Maine  to  New  Orleans.  It  is  fragrant 
all  over,  and  I  am  breathing  the  whole  perfume." 

About  this  time  a  position  as  Professor  in  the  Law  School 
at  Cambridge  was  urged  upon  Mr.  Choate  in  a  manner  so  sin- 
cere, so  unusual  and  so  honorable  to  all  parties,  that  I  am  es- 
pecially glad  to  be  permitted  to  present  the  facts  in  the  words 
of  one  who  knew  them  familiarly,  —  the  late  Chief  Justice 
Shaw. 

"  After  the  reorganization  of  the  Law  School  at  Harvard 
College,  by  the  large  donation  of  Mr.  Dane,  and  the  appoint- 
ment of  Mr.  Justice  Story  as  Dane  Professor,  the  school  ac- 
quired a  high  reputation  throughout  the  United  States.  It  was 
regarded  as  an  institution  to  which  young  men  could  be  bene- 
ficially sent  from  every  part  of  the  country  to  be  thoroughly 
trained  in  the  general  principles  of  jurisprudence,  and  the 
elementary  doctrines  of  the  common  law,  which  underlie  the 
jurisprudence  of  all  the  States.  This  reputation,  which  is  be- 
lieved to  be  well  founded,  was  attributable,  in  a  great  measure, 
to  the  peculiar  qualifications,  and  to  the  efficient  services  of 
Judge  Story,  in  performing  the  duties  of  his  professorship. 
It  was  not  so  much  by  his  profound  and  exact  knowledge  of 
the  law  in  all  its  departments,  nor  by  his  extensive  knowledge 
of  books,  ancient  and  modern,  that  the  students  were  benefit- 
ed, as  by  his  earnest  and  almost  impetuous  eloquence,  the  ful- 
ness and  clearness  of  his  illustrations  with  which  he  awakened 


1845-1849.]  OFFER    OF    A   PROFESSORSHIP. 


15^7 


the  aspirations,  and  impressed  the  minds,  of  his  youthful  hear- 
ers. He  also  demonstrated  in  his  own  person  how  much  may 
be  accomplished  by  a  man  of  extraordinary  talent  and  untiring- 
industry, —  having  successfully  and  faithfully  performed  the 
duties  of  his  professorship,  being  engaged  at  the  same  time 
in  two  other  departments  of  intellectual  labor,  that  of  Judge  of 
the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  and  author  of  elab- 
orate treatises  on  the  science  and  practice  of  law,  —  each  of 
which  would  seem  sufficient  to  require  the  exclusive  attention 
of  a  very  industrious  man. 

"  Some  time  after  the  decease  of  Judge  Story,  whether  im- 
mediately, or  after  the  lapse  of  two  or  three  years,  I  do  not  know, 
but  as  near  as  I  recollect,  about  the  year  1848,  the  attention 
of  the  President  and  Fellows  of  Harvard  College  was  turned 
to  Mr.  Choate,  at  once  an  eminent  jurist  and  an  advocate  con- 
spicuous for  his  commanding  and  persuasive  eloquence,  whose 
services,  if  they  could  be  obtained,  would  render  him  eminently 
of  use  in  the  Dane  Law  School.  Indeed  he  was  too  promi- 
nent a  public  man  to  be  overlooked,  as  a  candidate  ofiering 
powers  of  surpassing  fitness  for  such  a  station.  But  it  was 
never  supposed  by  the  Corporation,  that  the  comparatively  re- 
tired position  of  a  College  Professor,  and  the  ordinary,  though 
pretty  liberal  emoluments  of  such  an  office,  could  induce  Mr. 
Choate  to  renounce  all  the  honors  and  profits  of  the  legal  pro- 
fession which  rightly  belonged  to  him,  as  Leader  of  the  Bar 
in  every  department  of  forensic  eloquence.  But  about  the 
time  alluded  to  Mr.  Choate  having  retired  from  political  life, 
was  apparently  devoting  himself  ardently  and  exclusively  to 
the  profession  of  the  law  as  a  jurist  and  advocate.  It  was 
thought  by  the  Corporation  that  a  scheme  might  be  arranged, 
if  it  suited  his  tastes  and  satisfied  his  expectations  of  pro- 
fessional eminence,  which  would  secure  to  the  Law  School 
of  the  University  the  benefit  of  his  great  talents,  place  him 
conspicuously  before  the  whole  country,  and  afford  to  him- 
self the  immunities  and  the  reputation  of  a  great  jurist  and 
advocate. 

"  It  was  the  opinion  of  the  members  of  the  Corporation, 
that  in  appointing  instructors  for  an  academical  institution,  de- 
signed to  instruct  young  men  in  the  science  of  jurisprudence, 
and  in  part  to  fit  them  for  actual  practice  in  the  administration 


128  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS  CHOATE.  [Chap.  VL 

of  the  lavv  in  courts  of  justice,  (an  opinion  I  believe,  which  they 
hold  in  common  with  many  who  have  most  reflected  on  the 
means  of  acquiring  a  legal  education,)  it  is  not  desirable  that  an 
instructor  in  such  institution  should  be  wholly  withdrawn  from 
practice  in  courts.  Law  is  an  art  as  well  as  a  science.  Whilst 
it  has  its  foundation  in  a  broad  and  comprehensive  morality, 
and  in  profound  and  exact  science,  to  be  adapted  to  actual  use 
in  controlling  and  regulating  the  concerns  of  social  life,  it 
must  have  its  artistic  skill  which  can  only  be  acquired  by  ha- 
bitual practice  in  courts  of  justice.  A  man  may  be  a  laborious 
student,  have  an  inquiring  and  discriminating  mind,  and  have 
all  the  advantage  which  a  library  of  the  best  books  can  afford, 
and  yet,  without  actual  attendance  on  courts,  and  the  means 
and  facilities  which  practice  affords,  he  would  be  little  prepared 
either  to  try  questions  of  fact,  or  argue  questions  of  law.  The 
instructor,  therefore,  who  to  some  extent  maintains  his  famil- 
iarity with  actual  practice,  by  an  occasional  attendance  as  an 
advocate  in  courts  of  justice,  would  be  better  prepared  to  train 
the  studies  and  form  the  mental  habits  of  young  men  designed 
for  the  Bar. 

"  No  formal  application  was  made  to  Mr.  Choate,  but  a  plan 
was  informally  suggested  to  him,  with  the  sanction  of  the 
Corporation,  and  explained  in  conversation  substantially  to  the 
following  effect:  According  to  the  plan  of  the  Law  School 
of  the  College,  there  are  two  terms  or  sessions  in  the  year,  of 
about  twenty  weeks  each,  with  vacations  intervening  of  about 
six  weeks  each.  The  first  or  Autumn  term  commences  about 
the  1st  of  September,  and  closes  near  the  middle  of  January; 
the  Spring  term  commences  about  the  1st  of  March,  and  con- 
tinues to  July.  The  exercises  during  term-time  consist  of 
daily  lectures  and  recitations,  conducted  by  the  several  pro- 
fessors, of  moot  courts  for  the  discussion  of  questions  of 
law,  deliberative  oral  discussions,  in  the  nature  of  legislative 
debates  ;  some  written  exercises  also,  on  questions  and  sub- 
jects proposed,  make  up  the  course  of  training.  Instructions 
in  these  exercises  were  given  in  nearly  equal  proportions  by 
three  professors,  of  whom  the  Dane  Professor  was  one.  The 
moot  courts  and  deliberative  discussions  were  uniformly  pre- 
sided over  by  one  of  the  professors. 

"  At  the  time  referred  to,  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 


1845-1849.]  OFFER  OF   A  PROFESSORSHIP.  jog 

States  commenced  their  annual  session  the  first  \vee]<;  in  De- 
cember, and  continued  to  about  the  middle  of  March.  It  was 
thought,  that  without  any  perceptible  derangement  of  the 
course  of  instruction  in  the  Law  School,  the  duties  of  the 
Dane  Professorship  might  be  so  modified  as  to  enable  Mr. 
Choate  to  attend  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States  at 
Washington  during  their  whole  term.  The  duties  of  tbe  three 
professors  are  not  such  as  to  require  the  attendance  of  each, 
on  every  day  of  the  term ;  nor  is  it  essential  that  the  differ- 
ent departments  of  the  duties  assigned  to  them  respectively 
should  be  taken  up  in  any  exact  order.  Then  by  an  ar- 
rangement wdth  the  other  professors,  the  subjects  specially 
committed  to  the  Dane  Professor,  and  his  proportion  of  all 
other  duties,  might  be  taken  up  and  finished  in  the  early  part 
of  the  Autumn  term,  so  that  without  detriment  to  the  instruc- 
tion, he  might  leave  it  several  weeks  before  its  termination, 
and  in  like  manner,  postpone  them  a  few  weeks  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  Spring  term,  so  that  with  the  six  weeks' 
vacation  in  mid-winter,  these  curtailments  from  the  two  terms 
w^ould  equal  in  length  of  time  that  of  the  entire  session  of  the 
National  Supreme  Court. 

"The  advantages  to  Mr.  Choate  seemed  obvious.  When  it 
was  previously  known  that  he  might  be  depended  on  to  at- 
tend at  the  entire  term  of  the  Supreme  Court,  we  supposed  he 
would  receive  a  retainer  in  a  large  proportion  of  the  cases 
which  would  go  up  from  New  England,  and  in  many  impor- 
tant causes  from  all  the  other  States.  The  effect  of  this  prac- 
tice upon  the  emoluments  of  his  profession  might  be  antici- 
pated. No  case,  we  believe,  whether  in  law,  equity,  or  ad- 
miralty, can  reach  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States 
until  the  case,  that  is,  a  statement  of  all  the  facts  on  which 
questions  may  arise,  is  reduced  to  writing  in  some  form,  em- 
braced in  the  record. 

"  He  would  therefore  have  ample  opportunity,  with  his  case 
before  him,  and  with  the  use  of  the  best  Law  Library  in  the 
country,  and  the  assistance  of  a  class  of  young  men  ever  eager 
to  aid  in  seeking  and  applying  authorities,  and  proposing 
cases  for  argument,  to  avail  himself  of  all  the  leisure  desir- 
able at  his  own  chambers,  to  study  his  cases  thoroughly,  and 
prepare  himself  for  his  arguments.     The  extent  to  which  such 


130  MEMOIR  OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VI. 

a  practice  with  such  means  would  soon  add  to  the  sohd  rep- 
utation of  Mr.  Choate,  may  easily  he  conceived,  especially  by 
those  who  knew  the  strength  of  his  intellectual  power,  and  the 
keenness  of  his  faculty  for  discrimination.  The  advantages 
to  the  Law  School  contemplated  by  this  arrangement  were, 
that  Mr.  Choate  would  not  only  bring  to  the  institution 
the  persuasive  eloquence,  and  the  profound  legal  learning 
which  he  then  possessed,  but  by  an  habitual  practice  in  one 
of  the  highest  tribunals  in  the  world,  a  tribunal  which  has 
jurisdiction  of  more  important  public  and  private  rights  than 
any  other,  he  would  keep  up  with  all  the  changes  of  the 
times,  in  jurisprudence  and  legislation,  and  bring  to  the 
service  of  his  pupils  the  products  of  a  constantly  growing 
experience. 

"  But  this  plan,  in  the  judgment  of  the  Corporation,  neces- 
sarily involved  Mr.  Choate's  residence  at  Cambridge,  and  an 
entire  renunciation  of  all  jury  trials,  and  all  other  practice  in 
courts,  except  occasionally  a  law  argument  before  the  Supreme 
Court  of  the  State  at  Boston  or  Cambridge,  each  being  within 
a  short  distance  of  his  home.  It  has  been  considered  impor- 
tant by  the  Corporation  tliat  the  Professors  of  the  Law 
School  should  reside  in  Cambridge,  to  afford  thereby  the  ben- 
efit of  their  aid  and  counsel  in  the  small  number  composing 
the  Law  Faculty.  In  the  case  of  Mr.  Choate,  it  was  consid- 
ered quite  indispensable  that  he  should  reside  in  Cambridge, 
on  account  of  the  influence  which  his  genial  manners,  his 
habitual  presence,  and  the  force  of  his  character  would  be 
likely  to  exert  over  the  young  men  drawn  from  every  part  of 
the  United  States  to  listen  to  his  instructions.  There  was 
another  consideration  leading,  in  Mr.  Choate's  case,  to  the 
same  result,  which  was,  that  the  breaking  off  from  the  former 
scenes  of  his  labors  and  triumphs,  so  necessary  to  his  success 
in  the  plan  proposed,  would  be  more  effectually  accomplished 
by  his  establishing  at  once  a  new  residence,  and  contracting 
new  habits.  Both  considerations  had  great  weight  in  indu- 
cing those  who  communicated  with  Mr.  Choate,  to  urge  his 
removal  to  Cambridge,  and  the  fixing  there  of  his  future  resi- 
dence, as  essential  features  of  the  arrangement. 

"  Mr.  Choate  listened  attentively  to  these  proposals  and  dis- 
cussed them  freely  ;   he  was  apparently  much  pleased  with  the 


1845-1849.]       DECLINES   A   SEAT  ON   THE   BENCH.  1,3| 

brilliant  and  somewhat  attractive  prospect  presented  to  him  by 
this  overture.  He  did  not  immediately  decline  the  offer,  but 
proposed  to  take  it  into  consideration.  Some  time  after,  per- 
haps a  week,  he  informed  me  that  he  could  not  accede  to  the 
proposal.  He  did  not  state  to  me  his  reasons,  or  if  he  did, 
I  do  not  recollect  them." 

It  was  not  far  from  this  time,  also,  that  Mr.  Choate  received 
from  Gov.  Briggs  the  honorable  offer  of  a  seat  upon  the  bench 
of  the  Supreme  Court.  It  was  urged  upon  him  by  some  of 
his  friends,  as  affording  him  the  rest  M-hich  he  seemed  to  need. 
But  he  felt  that  he  could  hardly  afford  to  take  it,  and  after  due 
consideration,  respectfully  declined. 

In  March  of  this  year — 184<9  —  he  delivered  before  the 
Mercantile  Library  Association  the  closing  lecture  of  the  win- 
ter course.  The  first  two  volumes  of  Mr.  Macaulay's  bril- 
liant history  had  been  but  recently  published  ;  and  availing 
himself  of  the  newly  awakened  interest,  he  chose  for  his  sub- 
ject one  always  fresh  to  himself,  "  Thoughts  on  the  New 
England  Puritans."  A  short  extract,  comparing  the  public 
life  of  that  day  with  ours,  will  indicate  the  tone  and  spirit 
of  the  whole. 

"  In  inspecting  a  little  more  closely  the  colonial  period  of 
1688,  than  heretofore  I  ever  had  done,  it  has  seemed  to  me 
that  the  life  of  an  able,  prominent,  and  educated  man  of 
that  day  in  Massachusetts  was  a  life  of  a  great  deal  more 
dignity,  interest,  and  enjoyment  than  we  are  apt  to  imagine ; 
that  it  would  compare  quite  advantageously  with  the  life  of 
an  equally  prominent,  able,  and  educated  man  in  Massachu- 
setts now.  We  look  into  the  upper  life  of  Old  England  in 
1688,  stirred  by  the  scenes  —  kindled  and  lifted  up  by  the 
passions  of  a  great  action  —  the  dethronement  of  a  king ; 
the  crowning  of  a  king  ;  the  vindication  and  settlement  of 
English  liberty;  the  reform  of  the  English  constitution, — 
parent  of  more  reform  and  of  progress  without  end,  —  and 
we  are  dazzled.  Renown  and  grace  are  there  ;  the  glories 
of  the  Augustan  age  of  English  letters,  just  dawning;  New- 
ton first  unrolling  the  system  of  the  Universe ;  the  schoolboy 
dreamings  of  Pope  and  Addison  ;  the  beautiful  eloquence  and 
more  beautiful  public  character  of  Somers  waiting  to  receive 


Ig2  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VI. 

that  exquisite  dedication  of  the  Spectator ;  the  serene  and 
fair  large  brow  of  Marlborough,  on  which  the  laurels  of 
Blenheim  and  Malplaquet  had  not  yet  clustered.  We  turn 
to  the  Colonial  life  of  the  same  day,  and  it  seems  at  first  as 
if  it  could  not  have  been  borne  for  half  an  hour.  What  a 
time  of  small  thiugs,  to  be  sure,  at  first  it  appears  to  be. 
The  sweet  pathos,  the  heroical  interest  of  the  landing*  at  Ply- 
mouth, of  the  journey  to  Charlestown,  are  gone ;  the  grander 
excitations  of  the  age  of  Independence  are  not  yet  begun  to 
be  felt ;  hard  living ;  austere  manners ;  provincial  and  paro- 
chial insignificance ;  stupendous  fabrics  of  witchcraft,  and  dis- 
putes of  grace  and  works  ;  little  tormentings  of  Quakers  and 
Antinomians ;  synods  to  build  platforms,  on  which  nothing 
would  stand ;  fast  days  for  sins  which  there  was  no  possi- 
bility to  commit,  and  thanksgivings  for  mercies  never  re- 
ceived ;  these  at  first  sight  seem  to  be  the  Massachusetts 
life  of  that  day.  But  look  a  little  closer.  Take  the  instance 
of  an  educated  public  man  of  Massachusetts  about  the  year 
1688,  —  a  governor;  a  magistrate;  an  alumnus  of  Harvard 
College,  learned  in  the  learning  of  his  time ;  a  foremost 
man,  —  and  trace  him  through  a  day  of  his  life.  Observe 
the  variety  and  dignity  of  his  employments  ;  the  weight  of 
his  cares ;  the  range  of  his  train  of  thought ;  his  resources 
against  ennui  and  satiety ;  on  what  aliment  his  spiritual  and 
intellectual  nature  could  feed;  appreciate  his  past,  his  pres- 
ent, and  his  future,  and  see  if  you  are  quite  sure  that  a  man 
of  equal  ability,  prominence  and  learning  is  as  high  or  as 
happy  now. 

"  First,  last,  midst,  of  all  the  elements  of  interest  in  the  life 
of  such  a  man  was  this  :  that  it  was  in  a  just  and  grand 
sense,  a  public  life.  He  was  a  public  man.  And  what  sort 
of  a  public  man,  —  what  doing  in  that  capacity  ^  This  ex- 
actly. He  was,  he  felt  himself  to  be  —  and  here  lay  the 
felicity  of  his  lot,  —  he  was  in  the  very  act  of  building  up 
a  new  nation  where  no  nation  was  before.  The  work  was 
in  the  very  process  of  doing  from  day  to  day,  from  hour  to 
hour.  Every  day  it  was  changing  its  form  under  his  eye 
and  under  his  hand.  Instead  of  being  born  ignominiously 
into  an  established  order  of  things,  a  recognized  and  stable 
State,  to  the  duties   of  mere   conservation,  and   the  rewards 


1845-184D.]  THOUGHTS  ON  THE  PURITANS.  Jgg 

of  mere  enjoyment,  his  function  he  felt  to  be  tlmt  rarer, 
more  heroical,  more  epic  —  to  plant,  to  found,  to  construct 
a  new  State  upon  the  waste  of  earth.  He  felt  himself  to 
be  of  the  conditores  imperiorum.  Imperial  labors  were  his ; 
imperial  results  were  his.  Whether  the  State,  (that  grand- 
est of  the  works  of  man  —  grander  than  the  Pyramids,  or 
Ihads,  or  systems  of  the  Stars!)  —  whether  the  State  should 
last  a  year  or  a  thousand  years,  —  whether  it  should  be 
contracted  within  lines  three  miles  north  of  the  Merrimack, 
three  miles  south  of  the  Charles,  and  a  little  east  of  the 
Hudson,  or  spread  to  the  head  waters  of  the  Aroostook, 
and  St.  John,  and  the  springs  of  the  Merrimack  among  the 
crystal  hills  of  New  England,  and  to  the  great  sea  on  the 
west ;  —  whether  a  Stuart  and  a  Papist  king  of  England 
should  grasp  its  charter,  or  the  bayonet  or  tomahawk  of 
French  or  Indians  quench  its  life ;  —  whether  if  it  outlived, 
as  Jeremy  Taylor  has  said,  '  the  chances  of  a  child,'  it  should 
grow  up  to  be  one  day  a  pious,  learned,  well-ordered,  and 
law-abiding  Commonwealth;  a  freer  and  more  beautiful  Eng- 
land ;  a  less  tumultuary  and  not  less  tasteful  Athens  ;  a  larger 
and  more  tolerant  Geneva ;  or  a  school  of  prophets  —  a  gar- 
den of  God  —  a  praise  —  a  glory ;  all  this  seemed  to  such 
a  man  as  I  have  described,  as  he  awoke  in  the  morning,  to 
depend  appreciably  and  consciously  on  what  he  might  do  or 
omit  to  do,'  before  he  laid  his  head  on  his  pillow  that  very 
night.  Public  life  in  Massachusetts  that  day  did  not  con- 
sist in  sending  or  being  sent  to  Congress  with  a  dozen  asso- 
ciates, to  be  voted  down  in  a  body  of  delegates  representing 
half  of  North  America.  Still  less  was  it  a  life  of  leisure 
and  epicureanism.  This  man  of  whom  I  sj)eak,  within  the 
compass  of  a  single  twenty-four  hours,  might  have  to  cor- 
respond with  Connecticut,  Rhode  Island,  and  Plymouth  Col- 
ony, and  the  Royal  Government  of  New  Hampshire,  upon 
the  subject  of  boundary  lines,  —  the  boundary  lines  of  States, 
as  against  one  another  wholly  independent,  —  a  dignified  and 
historical  deliberation  ;  to  collate  and  to  draw  practical  con- 
clusions from  all  manner  of  contradictory  information  touch- 
ing movements  of  Indians  at  Casco  Bay  and  the  Penobscot ; 
to  confer  with  Sir  William  Phipps  about  the  raising  of  troops 
to  attack  Port  Royal  or  Quebec ;  to  instruct  the  agent  of  the 

VOL.   I.  12 


134i  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VI. 

Colony,  who  was  to  sail  for  England  next  morning,  to  watch 
the  course  of  the  struggle  between  the  last  of  the  Stuarts, 
the  people  of  England,  and  the  Prince  of  Orange,  or  to 
meditate  his  report  from  London ;  to  draw  up  a  politic, 
legal,  and  skilful  address  to  his  king's  most  excellent  and 
blessed  majesty,  to  show  that  we  had  not  forfeited  the  life 
of  the  charter  and  the  birthright  of  English  souls  ;  to  take 
counsel  on  the  state  of  the  free  schools,  the  university,  and 
the  law  ;  to  communicate  with  some  learned  judge  on  the 
composition  of  our  decennial  twelve  tables  of  the  jurispru- 
dence of  liberty;  to  communicate  with  learned  divines  —  the 
ardent  Mathers,  father,  and  son,  and  with  Brattle  —  on  the 
ecclesiastical  well-being  of  the  State,  the  aspects  of  Papacy 
and  Episcopacy,  the  agencies  of  the  invisible  world,  the  crises 
of  Congregationalism,  the  backslidings  of  faith  for  life,  and 
all  those  wayward  tendencies  of  opinion,  which,  with  fear  of 
change,  perplexed  the  church. 

Compare  with  the  life  of  such  an  one  the  life  of  a  Mas- 
sachusetts public  man  of  this  day.  How  crowded  that  was ; 
how  burthened  with  individual  responsibility  ;  how  oppressed 
with  large  interests ;  how  far  more  palpable  and  real  the 
influence ;  how  much  higher  and  wider  the  topics  ;  how  far 
grander  the  cares !  Why,  take  the  highest  and  best  Mas- 
sachusetts public  men  of  all  among  us.  Take  his  Excellency. 
What  has  he  to  do  with  French  at  Port  Royal,  or  Indians 
at  Saco,  or  Dutch  on  the  Hudson  ?  How  nmch  sleep  does 
he  lose  from  fear  that  the  next  steamer  will  bring  news 
that  the  Crown  of  England  has  repealed  the  Constitution 
of  Massachusetts  ?  When  will  he  lie  awake  at  dead  of 
night  to  see  Cotton  Mather  drawing  his  curtain  —  pale  as 
the  ghost  of  Banquo  —  to  tell  him  that  witchcraft  is  cele- 
brating pale  Hecate's  offerings  at  Danvers  ?  Where  is  it 
now  —  the  grand,  peculiar  charm  —  that  belongs  ever  to  the 
era  and  the  act,  of  the  planting  and  infancy  of  a  State  ? 
Where  —  where  now  —  those  tears  of  bearded  men  ;  the 
faded  cheek ;  the  throbbing  heart ;  the  brow  all  furrowed 
with  imperial  lines  of  policy  and  care,  —  that  give  the  seed 
to  earth,  whose  harvest  shall  be  reaped  when  some  genera- 
tions are  come  and  gone  V 

During  the  summer  of  the  same  year,  the  Phillips  Will  Case, 


1845-1849.]  THE   PHILLIPS   WILL    CASE.  IQ^ 

as  it  was  called,  was  argued  by  him  at  Ipswich.  It  involved 
the  disposal  of  nearly  a  million  of  dollars.  The  will  was  dated 
at  Nahant,  where  Mr.  Phillips  had  his  residence,  October  9, 
184<7.  He  soon  after  left  for  Europe,  and  the  next  year,  hav- 
ing returned,  put  an  end  to  his  own  life  in  Brattleborough,  Vt., 
June  28,  1848.  It  was  found  on  examination  that  after  giv- 
ing considerable  sums  to  his  mother  and  sisters,  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  to  the  Observatory  in  Cambridge,  and  sev- 
eral minor  bequests  to  his  friends,  he  left  the  bulk  of  his  prop- 
erty to  a  relative,  who  was  already  prospectively  very  wealthy. 
The  heirs  at  law  disputed  the  will  on  the  grounds — 1st,  of  the 
insanity  or  imbecility  of  the  testator  ;  2d,  that  an  undue  in- 
fluence had  been  exercised  over  him  ;  and  3d,  that  the  will  was 
void  because  executed  on  a  Sunday.  It  is  seldom  that  an 
array  of  counsel  of  such  eminent  ability  is  seen  at  once  in 
court.  For  the  heirs  at  law,  appeared  W.  H.  Gardiner,  Joel 
Parker,  and  Sydney  Bartlett.  For  the  executors,  Rufus 
Choate,  Benj.  R.  Curtis,  and  Otis  P.  Lord.  After  a  search- 
ing examination  of  witnesses  and  documents,  protracted  through 
a  whole  week,  the  arguments  were  made  by  Mr.  Gardiner  on 
one  side  and  Mr.  Choate  on  the  other.  That  it  was  one  of 
Mr.  Choate's  ablest  and  most  conclusive  arguments,  conceived 
in  his  best  vein,  and  conducted  with  consummate  skill  and  elo- 
quence, is  the  testimony  of  all  who  were  present.  To  those 
who  never  heard  him  before,  it  was  a  new  revelation  of  the 
scope  and  power  of  legal  eloquence.  Unfortunately  it  perished 
with  the  breath  that  uttered  it.  Nothing  remains  to  attest  its 
ability  but  its  success.  The  decision  of  the  jury  on  every 
point  was  in  favor  of  the  will. 

Soon  after  leaving  the  Senate,  Mr.  Choate  entered  upon  a 
course  of  careful  study  for  the  purpose  of  a  more  thorough 
self-discipline.  He  began  to  translate  Thucydides,  Demos- 
thenes, and  Tacitus.  He  marked  out  a  course  of  systematic 
reading,  and  resolutely  rescued  hours  of  daily  labor,  from 
sleep,  from  society,  from  recreation.  Under  the  date  of  Oc- 
tober, 184-5,  he  says,  "  1  am  reading,  meditating,  and  translat- 
ing the  first  of  Greek  historians,  Thucydides.  I  study  the 
Greek  critically  in  Passow,  Bloomfield,  and  Arnold,  and  the 
history  in  Mitford,  Thirlwall,  Wachsmuth,  Hermann,  &c.,  &c., 
and  translate  faithfully,  yet  with   some   attention  to  English 


136  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VI. 

words  and  construction  ;  and  my  purpose  is  to  study  deeply 
the  Greece  of  the  age  of  Pericles,  and  all  its  warnhigs  to  the 
liberty  and  the  anti-unionisms  of  my  own  country  and  time." 

Several  fragments  of  journals,  and  sketches  of  promised 
labor,  without  dates,  seem  referable  to  the  years  between  1845 
and  1850,  and  may  be  inserted  here.  They  show  the  diligent 
efforts  at  self-culture  in  the  midst  of  entangling  and  exhausting 
labors. 

"  Vacations.  —  PravAXE.  —  Hints  for  Myself. 

"  It  is  plain  that  if  I  am  to  do  aught  beyond  the  mere  drudgery  of  my 
profession,  for  profit  of  others  or  of  myself;  if  I  am  to  ripen  and  to  pro- 
duce any  fruit  of  study,  and  to  construct  any  image  or  memorial  of  my 
mind  and  thoughts,  it  must  be  done  or  be  begun  quickly.  To  this  I  have 
admonition  in  all  things.  High  time  —  if  not  too  late  —  it  is  to  choose 
between  the  two  alternatives  —  to  amuse  —  scarcely  amuse,  (for  how 
sad  and  ennuyant  is  mere  desultory  reading ! )  such  moments  of  leisure 
as  business  leaves  me,  in  various  random  reading  of  good  books,  or  to 
gather  up  these  moments,  consolidate  and  mould  them  into  something 
worthy  of  myself,  which  may  do  good  where  I  am  not  known,  and  livp 
when  I  shall  have  ceased  to  live  —  a  thoughtful  and  soothing  and  rich 
printed  page.  Thus  far  —  almost  to  the  Aristotelian  term  of  utmost 
mental  maturity  —  I  have  squandered  these  moments  away.  -  They  have 
gone  —  not  in  pleasure,  nor  the  pursuit  of  gain,  nor  in  the  trivialities  of 
society  —  but  in  desultory  reading,  mainly  of  approved  authors ;  often, 
much,  of  the  grandest  of  the  children  of  Light  —  but  reading  without 
method  and  without  results.  No  doubt  taste  has  been  improved,  senti- 
ments enlarged,  language  heightened,  and  many  of  the  effects  —  inev- 
itable, insensible,  and  abiding  of  liberal  culture,  impressed  on  the  spirit. 
But  for  all  this,  who  is  better  ?  Of  all  this,  who  sees  the  proofs  ?  How 
selfish  and  how  narrow  the  couch  of  these  gratifications  !  How  idle  the 
strenuousness  of  daily  labor  !  How  instantly  the  air  will  close  on  this 
armed  path !  How  sad,  how  contemptible,  that  no  more  should  be  left  of 
such  a  life,  than  of  the  commonplace  and  vacant  and  satisfied,  on  this 
side  and  that !  I  have  been  under  the  influence  of  such  thoughts,  med- 
itating the  choice  of  the  alternative.  I  w^ould  arrest  these  moments, 
accumulate  them,  transform  them  into  days  and  years  of  remembrance  ! 
To  this  end,  I  design  to  compose  a  collection  of  papers  which  I  will  call 
vacations.  These  shall  embody  the  studies  and  thoughts  of  my  fitful, 
fragmentar}^  leisure.  They  shall  be  most  slowly  and  carefully  written  — 
with  research  of  authors,  with  meditation,  with  great  attention  to  the 
style  —  yet  essay-like,  various,  and  free  as  epistles.  I  call  them  vaca- 
tions, to  intimate  that  they  are  the  fruits  of  moments  withdrawn  from  the 
main  of  life's  idle  business,  and  the  performances  of  a  mind  whose  chief 
energies  are  otherwise  exercised.  The  subjects  are  to  be  so  various  as 
to  include  all  things  of  which  I  read  or  think  con  amove.,  and  they  are  to 
be  tasks,  too,  for  reviving,  x-e-arranging,  and  increasing  the  acquisitions  I 
have  made.     My  first  business  is  to  prepare  an  introductory  and  explan- 


1845-1849.]  FRAGMENTARY  JOURNAL.  13y 

atory  paper  for  the  public,  —  as  this  is  for  myself,  —  and  then  to  settle 
something  like  a  course  of  the  subjects  themselves.  Such  a  course  it  will 
be  indispensable  to  pi'escribe,  nearly  impossible  to  adhere  to.  Single 
topics  are  more  easily  indicated.  The  Greek  orators  before  Lysias  and 
Isocrates  —  Demosthenes,  ^schines,  Thucydides,  the  Odyssey,  Tacitus, 
Juvenal,  Pope  —  supply  them  at  once ;  Rhetoric,  conservatism  of  the 
bar,  my  unpublished  orations,  the  times,  politics,  reminiscences  —  sug- 
gest others  —  Cicei'o  and  Burke,  Tiberius  in  Tacitus,  and  Suetonius,  and 
De  Quincey,  —  but  why  enumerate  ?  The  literature  of  this  century,  to 
the  death  of  Scott  or  Moore  —  so  grand,  rich,  and  passionate  "  — 

[The  succeeding  sheets  are  missing.     Some  of  these  subjects  he  wrought 
into  his  lectures.] 


"  I  have  at  last  hit  upon  a  plan  for  the  thorough  study  of  the  history  of 
the  Constitution,  which  I  hope  may  advance  all  my  objects,  —  the  thorough 
acquisition  of  the  facts ;  the  vivid  reproduction  of  tlae  eventful  age ;  the 
rhetorical  expression  and  exhibition  of  the  whole.  I  shall  compose  a 
succession  of  speeches,  supposed  to  have  been  made  in  Congress,  in  con- 
ventions, or  in  assemblies  of  the  people,  in  the  period  of  from  1783  to  the 
adoption  of  the  Constitution,  in  which  shall  be  embodied  the  facts,  the 
reasonings,  and  the  whole  scheme  of  opinions  and  of  policy,  of  the  time. 
I  select  a  speaker  and  a  subject ;  and  I  make  his  discussion,  or  the  dis- 
cussion of  his  antagonist,  revive  and  paint  the  actual  political  day  on 
which  he  speaks.  My  first  subject  is,  the  resolution  of  April  1783,  — 
recommending  to  the  States  to  vest  in  Congress  the  power  of  imposing 
certain  duties  for  raising  revenue  to  pay  the  debt  of  the  war.  To  pre- 
pare for  this  debate  I  read  Pitkin,  Marshall,  Liie  of  Hamilton,  and  above 
all,  Washington's  Address  to  the  People  of  8  June  1783,  and  that  of  the 
Committee  of  Congress. 

"  Mr.  Ellsworth  or  Mr.  Madison  or  Mr.  Hamilton  may  have  introduced 
the  measure ;  and  a  review  of  the  past,  a  survey  of  the  present,  a  glance 
toward  the  future  would  be  unavoidably  interwoven  with  the  mere  busi- 
ness-like and  necessary  exposition  of  the  proposition  itself." 

It  is  evident  from  the  above  fragment,  that  Mr.  Choate  cher- 
ished the  purpose  of  embodying  his  reflections  on  various  sub- 
jects in  a  series  of  papers.  To  this  he  sometimes  jocosely- 
referred  in  conversation  with  other  members  of  the  bar.  He 
once  told  Judge  Warren  that  he  was  going  to  write  a  book. 
"  Ah,"  said  the  Judge,  "what  is  it  to  bel  " — "  Well,"  replied 
Mr.  Choate,  "  I've  got  as  far  as  the  title-page  and  a  motto." — 
"What  are  theyV  —  "The  subject  is  'The  Lawyer's  Vaca- 
tion,'the  motto — I've  forgotten.  But  I  shall  show  that  the 
lawyer's  vacation  is  the  space  between  the  question  put  to  a 
witness  and  his  answer  !  " 

12* 


138  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VI 

The  following  seems  to  be  an  essay  towards  a  title  and  in- 
troduction to  some  such  work :  — 


«  VACATIONS  : 

"by   a   member    of   the    bar    of   MASSACHUSETTS. 

"  Paululum  itinere  decedere,  non  intempestivis  amoenitatibus,  admonemur.  — Flint. 

"  ADVERTISEMENT. 

"  The  vacations  of  the  Massachusetts,  and  I  suppose  of  the  general 
American  Bar,  are  not  certain  stated,  and  considerable  seasons  in  which 
a  lawyer  may  turn  his  office-key,  and  ramble  away,  without  reclamation 
or  reproval,  to  lake  and  prairie,  and  '  beyond  the  diminished  sea ; '  or  re- 
sign himself,  with  an  absolute  abandonment  of  successive  weeks  to  those 
thoughts  and  studies  of  an  higher  mood,  by  which  soul  and  body  might 
be  sooner  and  longer  rested  and  recreated.  They  are,  rather,  divers  in- 
finitely minute  particles  of  time,  —  half-hours  before  breakfast,  or  after 
dinner,  Saturdays  at  evening,  intervals  between  the  going  out  of  one 
client  and  the  coming  in  of  another ;  blessed,  rare,  fortuitous  days,  when 
no  Court  sits,  nor  Referee,  nor  Master  in  Chancery,  nor  Commissioner,  nor 
Judge  at  Chambers,  nor  Legislative  Committee,  these  snatches  and  inter- 
stitial spaces,  moments,  literal  and  fleet,  are  our  vacations. 

"  How  difficult  it  is  to  arrest  these  moments,  to  aggregate  them,  to  till 
them  as  it  were,  to  make  them  day  by  day  extend  our  knowledge,  refine 
our  tastes,  accomplish  our  whole  culture  !  —  how  much  more  difficult  to 
turn  them  to  any  large  account  in  the  way  of  scholarship  and  authorship, 
'  sowing  them,'  as  Jeremy  Taylor  has  said,  '  with  that  which  shall  grow 
up  to  crowns  and  sceptres,'  —  all  members  of  the  profession  of  the  law 
have  experienced,  and  all  others  may  well  understand  !  That  they  afford 
time  enough,  if  wisely  used,  for  '  the  exercises  and  direct  actions  of  re- 
ligion,' for  much  domestic  and  social  enjoyment,  for  many  forms  of 
tasteful  amusements,  for  some  desultory  reading,  and  much  undetected 
and  unproductive  reverie,  I  gratefully  acknowledge.  But  for  studies  out 
of  the  law,  —  studies,  properly  so  described,  either  recondite  or  elegant, 
and  still  moi-e  for  the  habit  and  the  faculty  of  literary  writing,  —  they  are 
too  brief  and  too  interrupted  ;  gifts,  too  often,  to  a  spirit  and  a  frame  too 
much  worn  or  depressed  or  occupied,  to  employ  or  appreciate  them. 

"  It  was  in  such  moments,  gathei'ed  of  many  years,  that  these  papers  were 
written.  They  are  fruits,  often,  or  always,  'harsh  and  crude,'  of  a  law- 
yer's vacations.  They  stand  in  need,  therefore,  of  every  degree  of  indul- 
gence ;  and  I  think  I  could  hardly  have  allowed  myself  to  produce  them 
at  all,  if  I  had  not  been  willing  that  othei'S  should  know  that  the  time 
which  I  have  withheld  from  society,  from  the  pursuit  of  wealth,  from 
pleasure,  and  latterly  from  public  affairs,  has  not  been  idle  or  misspent ; 
non  otiosa  vita  ;  nee  desidiosa  occupatio." 


1850.]  VOYAGE   TO   EUROPE.  I39 


CHAPTER   VIL 

1850. 

Change   of    Partnership  —  Voyage   to  Europe  —  Letters   to  Mrs.  Choate  — 

Journal. 

In  IS^O  Mr.  Choate  terminated  his  professional  connection 
with  B.  F.  Crowninshield,  Esq.  It  had  lasted  for  fifteen  years, 
with  a  confidence  so  entire  and  unbroken,  that  during  the  whole 
time  no  formal  division  of  the  income  of  the  office  was  ever 
made,  nor  had  there  arisen  between  them  on  this  account,  the 
slightest  disagreement.  He  novi^  took  into  partnership  his  son- 
in-law,  Joseph  M.  Bell,  Esq.,  and  removed  from  Court  Street 
to  7|  Tremont  Row,  a  quarter  then  nearly  unoccupied  by  mem- 
bers of  the  profession.  Here  he  remained  till  the  autumn  of 
I806,  when  he  again  removed  to  more  commodious  rooms  in 
a  new  building  in  Court  Street. 

In  the  summer  of  1850,  he  gratified  a  long-cherished  wish 
by  a  voyage  to  Europe.  So  constant  had  been  his  occupation, 
so  unremitting  his  devotion  to  the  law,  hardly  allowing  him 
a  week's  vacation  during  the  year,  that,  at  last,  the  strain  be- 
came too  great,  and  he  felt  compelled  to  take  a  longer  rest  than 
would  be  possible  at  home.  He  sailed  in  the  Steamship  Canada 
on  the  S9th  of  June,  in  company  with  his  brother-in-law,  Hon. 
Joseph  Bell.  They  visited  England,  Belgium,  France,  a  part 
of  Germany  and  Switzerland,  and  returned  home  in  Septem- 
ber. Fortunately,  he  kept  a  brief  journal,  which,  with  a  few 
letters,  will  indicate  the  objects  which  proved  most  attractive  to 
him.  He  was  kindly  received  in  England  by  those  to  whom  he 
had  letters,  and,  during  the  few  weeks  he  was  in  the  country, 
saw  as  much  as  possible  of  English  life,  and  of  interesting  places. 

To  Mrs.  Choate. 

"June  30,  1850.     12  o'clock.     At  Sea. 

"  Dear  H .      We  have  had  a  very  pleasant  run  so  far,  and  are  to 

reach  Halifax  at  night,  —  say  six  to  ten.     I  do  not  suppose  I  have  been 


14.0  MEMOIR   OF   KUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VII. 

sea-sick,  but  I  have  had  that  headache  and  sickness  which  usually  follows 
a  very  hard  trial,  and  have  just  got  out  of  my  berth,  to  which  I  had  re- 
treated ignominiously  from  the  breakfast-table.  After  I  get  wholly  over 
this,  I  hope  I  shall  be  better  than  ever.  So  far  I  don't  regret  coming, 
but  oh  take  care  of  everything,  —  the  house,  —  the  books,  —  your  own 

health  and  happiness To  tell  the  truth,  I  am  scarcely  able  to 

write  more,  but  with  best,  best,  best  love,  I  go  again  to  my  berth.  Mr. 
Bell  is  writing  at  my  side,  and  grows  better  every  moment.  This  letter 
I  shall  mail  at  Halifax,  —  where  I  shall  not  land,  however,  as  we  touch 
in  the  night.     God  bless  you  all.     Farewell  again." 


To  Mrs.  Choate. 

"  Liverpool,  7th  and  8th  July,  1850. 

"  Dear  H and  dear  Children,  —  We  arrived  here  yesterday, 

7th  July,  Sunday  morning,  at  about  eight  o'clock,  and  I  am  quite  comforta- 
bly set  down  at  the  Waterloo  Hotel,  —  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land.  Yes- 
terday, Sunday,  after  breakfasting  upon  honey,  delicious  strawberries,  &c., 
&c.,  I  went  to  church,  —  St.  George's,  —  and  heard  the  best  church  ser- 
vice music  I  ever  heard,  and  then  tried  to  rest.  To-day  Mr.  Bell  and  I 
have  been  running  all  over  Liverpool,  and  to-morrow  we  go  to  London. 
Most  of  the  passage  over  I  was  very  sick.  Two  days  I  lay  still  in  my 
berth  ;  the  rest  of  the  time  I  crept  about,  —  rather  low.  But  the  whole 
voyage  was  very  pleasant  and  very  pi-osperous,  and,  I  suppose,  at  no 
period  dangerous.  One  vast  and  grim  iceberg  we  saw,  —  larger  than  the 
whole  block  of  buildings  composing  Park  Street,  —  and  I  saw  the  spout- 
ings  of  whales,  but  no  whales  themselves.  The  transition,  yesterday, 
from  a  rocking  ship  and  all  the  smells  of  the  sea  to  the  hotel,  was  sweet 
indeed.  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  like  England,  —  and  how  I  shall  stay 
till  October.  Sometimes  my  heart  droops.  But  our  course  will  be  this, 
—  to  stay  now  a  fortnight  in  London,  then  go  a  fortnight  to  the  Continent, 
and  then  spend  the  ivhole  of  the  rest  of  our  time  in  England  and  Scot- 
land. More  of  all  this  we  shall  learn  to-morrow,  or  soon,  at  London.  .  .  . 
My  heart  swells  to  think  of  you  all,  and  of  my  dear,  poor  library.  Take 
good  care  of  that.  Write  everything  to  me.  .  .  .  My  heart  is  at  home. 
Miss  G.  got  along  very  well,  —  a  little  pale  and  sad.  All  England  is  in 
mourning  for  Sir  R.  Peel.  How  avt^ful !  One  of  my  letters  was  to  him, 
whom  I  am  never  to  see.  I  have  lived  so  much  at  home,  that  I  don't 
know  how  I  shall  go  along  —  or  go  alone.  But  if  we  all  meet  again, 
what  signifies  it  ?  Write  by  every  boat.  .  .  .  Tell  the  news  —  the  news. 
Remember  I  can  give  you  no  idea  by  letters  of  all  I  see,  but  if  I  come 
home  you  shall  hear  of  '  My  Lord,  Sir  Harry  and  the  Captain  '  till  you 
are  tired.  Good-by,  good-by.  It  is  near  three.  Mr.  B.  and  I  dine  at 
that  hour.     Bless  you  —  Bless  you." 


To  Mrs.  Choate. 

"  London,  Friday,  July  12. 
"  Dear  H.  and  dear  Children,  —  We  are  in  London  you  see,  — 
at  Fenton's  Hotel,  St.  James's  Street,  and  very  pleasantly  off  for  rooms 


1850.]  LETTERS   TO   MRS.   CHOATE.  14,X 

and  all  things.  I  have  not  yet  delivered  my  letters,  but  we  have  been 
everywhere  and  walked  so  much,  and  seen  so  much,  that  I  am  to-day 
almost  beat  out.  .  .  .  Thus  far  I  have  stopped  nowhere,  examined  noth- 
ing, seen  nobody,  but  just  wandered,  wandered  everywhere,  —  floating  on 
a  succession  of  memories,  reveries,  dreams  of  London.  ...  I  think  we 
shall  hurry  to  the  Continent  sooner  than  we  intended,  perhaps  in  a  week. 
This  will  depend  on  how  our  London  occupations  hold  out.  I  cannot 
particularize,  but  thus  far,  London,  England,  exceed  in  interest  all  I  had 
expected.  From  Liverpool  across,  all  is  a  garden,  —  green  fields,  woods, 
cottages,  as  in  pictures,  —  here  and  there  old  Gothic  spires,  towers,  and 
every  other  pictui'esque  and  foreign  looking  aspect.  The  country  is  a 
deep  dark  green  ;  the  buildings  look  as  in  engravings  and  pictures,  and 
all  things  so  strangely  mixed  of  reality  and  imagination  that  I  have  not 
been  able  to  satisfy  myself  whether  I  am  asleep  or  awake.  But  London  ! 
—  the  very  first  afternoon  after  riding  two  hundred  miles,  we  rushed  into 
St.  James's  Park,  —  a  large,  beautiful  opening,  —  saw  Buckingham  Pal- 
ace, the  Queen's  city  residence,  —  went  to  Westminster  Abbey,  whose 
bell  Avas  tolling  for  the  death  of  the  Duke  of  Cambridge,  —  went  to  the 
Thames  and  looked  from  Westminster  Bridge  towards  St.  Paul's,  whose 
dome  hung  like  a  balloon  in  the  sky.  Next  morning  I  rose  at  six,  and 
before  eight  had  seen  Charing  Cross,  —  the  Strand,  —  Temple  Bar,  an 
arch  across  it  on  which  traitors'  heads  were  suspended  or  fixed,  —  Fleet 
Sti-eet,  where  Sam.  Johnson  used  to  walk  and  suffer,  —  St.  Dunstan's 
church,  of  which  I  think  we  read  in  the  Fortunes  of  Nigel,  —  and  none 
can  t'sU  what  not.  Last  evening  I  went  to  the  opera  and  heard  in  the 
'Tempest,'  Sontag  and  Lablache,  and  in  'Anna  Bolena,'  Pasta,  —  the 
most  magnificent  theatre,  audience,  music,  I  ever  hei?T-d  or  saw.  Yet 
Sontag  and  Pasta,  especially  Pasta,  are  past  their  greatest  reputation. .  .  . 
I  am  quite  well.  I  rfj'e,  when  I  think  how  you  and  the  girls  would  enjoy 
all.     Bless  you.     Good-by.  R.  C." 


To  Mrs.  Choate. 

"  London,  Friday,  July  18. 

"  Dear  H.  and  dear  Children,  —  We  are  to  start  to-day  for  Paris 
and  our  tour  of  the  Continent.  We  shall  get  to  Paris  to-morrow  eve, 
and  thence  our  course  will  be  guided  by  circumstances.  But  we  expect 
to  be  here  again  by  the  middle  or  last  of  August,  to  renew  our  explora- 
tion of  England  and  Scotland.  Thus  far,  except  that  I  am  tired  to  death 
of  seeing  sights  and  persons,  and  late  hours,  I  have  been  very  well.  One 
day  of  partial  sick-headache  is  all  I  have  had  yet.  But  the  fatigue  of  a 
day,  and  of  a  week  of  mere  sight-seeing  is  extreme,  though  not  like  that 
of  business,  —  and  the  late  hours  of  this  city,  to  me,  who  sometimes  used 
to  lose  myself  as  early  as  nine  or  ten,  are  no  joke.  I  have  not  more 
than  three  times  been  in  bed  till  twelve  or  one,  and  up  again  at  seven  or 
eight.  It  is  now  five  o'clock  in  the  morning.  P^xpecting  to  come  back 
to  London  so  soon,  I  have  not  tried  to  see  it  all,  but  have  found  it  growing 
daily  on  my  hands.  We  attended  church  at  the  Foundling  Hospital  last 
Sunday,  where  some  five  hundred  to  one  thousand  charity  children,  in 
uniform  dress,  performed  the  responses.     The  organ  was  Handel's  own, 


142  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VU. 

and  the  sight  and  the  music,  and  the  march  of  the  children  to  their 
dinner  were  most  pleasant  to  see  and  hear.  I  have  been  as  much 
amazed  at  the  British  Museum  as  at  anything.  It  is  a  vast  building,  one 
part  of  which,  divided  into  a  great  number  of  departments,  is  full  of  all 
manner  of  curiosities,  —  statuary,  antiquities,  specimens  of  natural  his- 
tory, everything,  —  and  the  other  is  the  transcendent  Library.  This  last 
I  have  spent  much  time  in.  The  catalogue  alone  fills  two  hundred  or 
three  hundred  volumes.  The  rooms  are  wide,  high,  of  the  size  of  Fanueil 
Hall  almost,  and  lined  with  books  to  the  ceiling.  One  single  room  is 
three  hundred  feet  long,  and  full.  The  Temple  is  a  most  sweet  spot  too, 
—  a  sort  of  college,  inclosing  a  beautiful  large  area  or  garden,  which 
runs  to,  and  along,  the  Thames,  secluded  and  still  in  the  heart  of  the 
greatest  city  of  earth.     There  Nigel  was,  before  returning  to  Alsatia. 

"  We  dined  at  Mr.  Lawrence's,  pleasantly,  and  I  spent  a  delightful 
evening  at  Mr.  Bunsen's,  the  Prussian  minister.  The  house  belongs  to  his 
government,  and  is  a  palace  ;  rooms  large  and  high.  It  was  not  a  large 
party,  —  chiefly  for  music,  which  was  so  so,  Prussian  chiefly,  by  ladies 
and  gentlemen  of  the  party.  I  have  been  at  Lord  Ashburton's,  Lord 
Lonsdale's,  and  Mr.  Macaulay's,  and  am  to  go  to  Lord  Ashburton's  in 
Devonshire,  when  we  come  back.  The  deaths  of  the  Duke  of  Gloucester 
and  Sir  R.  Peel,  and  the  lateness  of  the  season,  somewhat  check  the 
course  of  mere  society ;  but  I  have  been  most  politely  received,  and  more 
than  I  expected  gratified  by  the  mere  personnel  of  London.  Lord  Ash- 
burton's house  is  a  palace  too,  full  of  pictures,  though  all  in  confusion  on 
tlie  eve  of  his  departure  for  his  summer  seat.  The  country  is  the  grand 
passion  of  such  persons.  Mr.  Macaulay  told  me  they  would  sell  any 
house  they  own  in  town  for  its  money  value,  but  their  country  seats  noth- 
ing could  take  from  them.  ...  I  wish  J.  would  ascertain  the  latest  day 
to  which  my  causes  in  the  S.  J.  C.  can  be  postponed,  and  write  very  par- 
ticularly which  must  come  on,  and  at  what  times,  doing  his  best  to  have 
all  go  over  till  October,  if  possible. 

"  The  confession  of  Professor  Webster  has  just  arrived.  The  cause 
is  as  well  known  here  as  there.  It  of  course  cannot  save  him.^  Mr. 
Coolidge  has  helped  us  to  a  capital  servant,  and  was  most  polite  and 
kind ;  so  are  all  from  whom  we  had  any  right  to  look  for  anything. 
And  yet,  if  I  were  asked  if  I  have  ever  been  as  happy  as  I  am  every 
day  and  hour  at  home,  at  talk  with  you  all,  in  my  poor  dear  library,  I 
could  not  truly  say  I  have.  But  even  home  will  be,  I  hope,  the  pleas- 
anter  for  the  journey. 

"  Good-by,  all  dear  ones.  We  go  to  Dover  to-night,  starting  at  one. 
It  draws  near  to  breakfast,  and  I  must  go  to  packing.  Bless  you  all. 
Give  my  love  to  Mrs.  B.  and  all  inquirers.  R.  C." 


To  Mrs.  Choate. 

Paris,  Thursday,  24  th  July. 
"  Dear   II.  —  I  was  delighted  to  get  your  letter  yesterday,  though 
struck  speechless  to  learn  at  the  moment  of  receiving  it  from  the  banker, 

1  It  is  understood  that  Mr.  Choate     but,  for  reasons  which  he  judged  satis- 
was  solicited  to  defend   Dr.  Webster,     factory,  declined. 


1850.]  JOURNAL  — ON   BOARD   THE   CANADA.  I43 

that  President  Taylor  is  dead.  I  hardly  credit  it  yet,  though  it  is  as 
certain  as  it  is  surprising.  Better  for  him  perhaps,  but  what  an  over- 
throio  of  others,  —  the  cabinet,  the  party,  and  all  things. 

"  We  got  here  Saturday  night,  and  have  been  —  I  have  —  in  a  real 
dream  ever  since.  Nothing  yet  seen  is  in  the  least  degree  to  be  com- 
pared with  Paris,  for  every  species  of  interest.  Every  spot  of  which 
you  read  in  the  history  of  the  revolution  and  the  times  of  Napoleon,  over 
and  above  all  that  belongs  to  it  historically,  is  a  thousand  times  more 
beautiful  and  more  showy  than  I  had  dreamed.  I  saw  the  Tuileries  — 
by  moonlight,  Saturday  evening,  from  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries.  This 
garden  —  I  should  think  larger  —  with  the  Champs  Elysees  certainly  — 
than  a  dozen  of  our  Commons  —  is  a  delightful  wood,  with  paths,  foun- 
tains, statues,  busts,  at  every  turn,  —  quiet,  though  a  miUion  of  people 
seemed  walking  in  it,  with  soldiers  here  and  there  to  keep  order.  It 
stretches  along  from  the  Tuileries  to  a  clearing  called  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde,  an  open  area  where  are  fountains,  and  the  great  Egyptian 
obelisk.  Then  you  reach  the  Champs  Elysees,  also  wooded,  not  so  close 
or  quiet,  —  then  come  to  the  Arch  of  Triumph,  a  prodigious  structure 
on  which  are  inscribed  the  names  of  Napoleon's  victories.  .  .  .  Notre 
Dame  is  a  majestic  old  church,  500  or  1000  years  old,  as  grand  as 
Westminster  Abbey  —  and  the  Madeleine  a  glorious  new  Greek  Temple 
church.  .  .  .  We  went  yesterday  to  Versailles,  the  most  striking  spot 
of  earth,  out  of  Rome,  —  one  enormous  palace,  full  of  innumerable  great 
rooms,  halls,  museums,  full  of  statues  and  pictures.  We  were  in  the 
bedroom  and  boudoir  of  Marie  Antoinette,  and  Louis  XVL,  not  usually 
opened.  The  most  striking  place  I  have  seen,  of  which  I  never  had 
heard,  is  a  beautiful  chapel  built  over  the  spot  where  Louis  XVL  and 
Marie  Antoinette  were  first  privately  buried.  There  they  lay  21  years 
and  then  were  removed  to  St.  Denis,  but  then  this  chapel  was  built. 
It  has  two  groups,  —  the  king,  an  angel  supporting  him,  and  the  queen, 
similarly  supported,  —  in  marble.  I  touched  the  place  where  they  were 
buried.  We  start  to-morrow  for  Brussels,  Cologne,  the  Rhine  and 
Switzerland.  —  Best,  best  love  to  all.  R.  C." 

"  Take  care  of  my  library,  —  dearer  than  the  Bibliotheque  du  Roi,  — 
though  smaller  ! " 


Journal  of  Mr.  Ciioate. 

Saturday,  29th  June,  1850. 

ON   BOARD    THE    CANADA. 

"  I  NEVER  promised  myself  nor  any  one  else  to  attempt  a  diary  of  any 
part  of  the  journey  on  which  I  have  set  out,  still  less  of  the  first,  most 
unpleasant,  and  most  unvaried,  part  of  it,  —  the  voyage.  But  these  hours 
too  must  be  arrested  and  put  to  use.  These  days  also  are  each  a  life. 
'  Let  me  be  taught  to  number  them  then  '  —  lest,  seeking  health,  I  find 
idleness,  ennui,  loss  of  interest  —  more  than  the  allotted  and  uncon- 
trollable influence  of  time,  on  the  faculties  and  the  curiosity. 

"  These  affectionate  aids  too  of  my  wife  and  daughters  —  pen,  ink,  and 


144  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  Vll. 

beautiful  paper  —  at  once  suggest  and  prescribe  some  use  of  them.  Such 
a  chiira,  now  less  than  ever,  would  I  disallow. 

"  So  I  will  try  to  make  the  briefest  record  of  the  barren  outward  time, 
and  try  also  to  set  myself  to  some  daily  task  of  profit.  My  first  three 
days,  Wednesday,  Thursday,  and  Friday,  were  grasped  from  me  by  a 
sick-headache  of  the  Court  House,  aggravated,  changed,  by  the  sickness 
of  the  sea.  The  first  day  and  night  and  the  second-day  till  after  dinner 
were  one  fearful  looking-for  of  the  inevitable  consequences  of  my  last 
laborious  fortnight.  Ship  or  shore,  1  should  have  had  it.  It  came,  is 
gone,  and  for  the  first  time,  to-day,  I  feel  like  myself,  and  to  be  well,  I 
hojje,  for  a  month  more. 

"  Meantime  we  have  run  up  the  New  England  coast,  touched  at 
Halifax,  and  are  coming  fast  abreast  of  our  last  land,  —  Cape  Race. 
They  expect  to  pass  it  to-day  at  6  p.  m.,  and  the  east  wind  and  incum- 
bent fog  announce  the  vicinity  of  the  inhospitable  coast  and  the  Great 
Bank.  I  understand  the  passage  of  Cape  Race  is  reckoned  the  last  peril 
of  the  voyage,  at  this  season  —  till  we  make  the  Irish  shores.  We  all 
share  the  anxiety  and  appreciate  the  vigilance  of  the  pilotage,  which  is 
on  the  look-out  for  this  crisis.  Under  the  circumstances,  it  infers  little 
danger  at  least.  Thus  far,  till  this  morning,  day  and  night  have  been 
bright.  Sun,  moon,  and  stars  have  been  ours,  —  and  the  wind  fair  and 
fresh.  We  have  generally  carried  sail,  often  studding  sails.  The  sea 
has  been  smooth  too,  for  ocean  ;  yet  breathing  ever,  —  life-full,  playing 
with  us,  —  the  serene  face  of  waves  smiling  on  us.  To-day,  is  some 
change.  Wind  east ;  —  dead  ahead,  —  a  low,  cold,  damp  fog,  brooding 
forever  and  forever  in  these  regions  of  the  meeting  of  the  warm  and  cold 
tides.  On  we  go  still,  every  sail  furled  close  —  eleven  miles  an  hour.  I 
remark  our  northing,  in  the  diminished  power  of  the  clearest  sunbeam 
and  in  the  cool  air,  and  our  easting  in  the  loss  of  my  watch's  time.  The 
sun  comes  to  the  meridian  an  hour  sooner  than  in  Boston.  We  are 
taking  our  meridian  lunch,  while  our  dear  friends  hear  their  parlor  and 
kitchen  clocks  strike  eleven.  For  the  rest,  it  is  a  vast  sentient  image  of 
water  all  around.  We  have  seen  three  or  four  sail  daily,  —  parcel  of  the 
trade  of  England  to  her  northern  colonies;  —  and  a  mackerel  fisherman 
or  two ;  and  with  these  exceptions,  we  are  alone  in  the  desert. 

"  Our  ship  is  a  man-of-war,  for  size,  quiet,  and  discipline  ;  the  passen- 
gers a  well-behaved  general  set ;  my  accommodations  excellent.  H(bc 
hactenus. 

"  I  have  come  away  without  a  book  but  the  Bible  and  Prayer-Book 
and  '  Daily  Food,'  and  I  sigh  for  the  sweet  luxuries  of  my  little  library 
fjiiKpov  re  cjakov  re. 

"  Yet  am  I  resolved  not  to  waste  this  week  '  in  ineptiis,'  and  I  mean  to 
know  more  at  the  end  of  it  than  I  know  now.  I  will  commit  one  morsel 
in  the  '  Daily  Food  '  daily,  and  have  to-day,  that  of  29th  June.  To  this, 
I  mean  to  add  a  page  at  least  of  French,  and  two  pages  of  '  Half-hours 
with  Best  Authors,'  with  Collectanea,  ut  j)ossim. 

"  Liverpool.  —  Alas  !  on  that  very  Saturday  evening,  my  real  sea-sick- 
ness set  in,  pursued  me  till  Thursday,  then  followed  languor,  restlessness, 
and  all  the  unprofitable  and  unavailing  resolving  of  such  a  state  of  the 
mind  left  to  itself  on  board  a  vessel.     The  result  is,  that  the  rest  of  my 


1850.]  JOURNAL  — ON   BOARD   THE  CANADA.  145 

voyage  was  lost,  except  so  far  as  it  has  quite  probably  prepared  me  for 
better  health  and  fresher  sensations  on  shore. 

"  We  passed  Cape  Race  on  Saturday  evening  in  thick  fog,  and  very 
close,  nearer  I  suppose  to  a  point  of  it,  —  the  projecting  termination  of  a 
cove,  into  which  we  ran,  which  we  coasted,  and  out  of  which  we  had  to 
steer  by  a  total  change  of  course,  —  nearer  than  we  designed.  To  see  it, 
for  departure,  was  indispensable  almost,  and  tliat  done  we  steered  assured 
and  direct  towards  Cape  Clear  in  Ireland.  Then  followed  two  or  three 
days  of  fog  and  one  or  two  more  of  a  quite  rough  sea.  But  we  have 
had  no  gale  of  wind,  and  on  Friday  night  we  entered  the  Irish  Channel 
and  ascended  it  till  about  5  p.  m.,  by  science  only,  when  we  saw  the  first 
land  since  our  departure  one  week  before  from  the  S.  E.  cape  of  New- 
foundland. What  we  saw  were  islands  on  the  coast  of  Wales,  or  Moun- 
tains of  Wales,  or  both.  We  came  up  toward  Liverpool  as  far  as  the 
bar  would  permit,  last  eve,  anchored  or  waited  for  tide,  and  came  to  our 
dock  at  about  8  this  morning. 

"  On  Sunday  afternoon,  June  30th,  we  were  called  on  deck  to  see  an 
iceberg.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  a  cold,  gross  fog  incumbent,  a 
dark  night  at  hand,  the  steamer  urging  forward  at  the  rate  of  twelve  miles 
an  hour.  The  iceberg  lay  slowly  floating,  I  suppose  one  foui'th  of  a  mile 
off,  getting  astern,  and  was  a  grand  and  startling  image  certainly.  It 
might  be  in  some  places  fifty,  in  some  one  hundred  feet  from  the  water, 
and  perhaps  three  hundred  to  five  hundred  yards  long,  looking  like  a  sec- 
tion of  a  mountain-top  severed  horizontally,  but  ice,  ice,  suggesting  its 
voyage  of  thousands  of  miles  perhaps,  and  its  growth  of  a  thousand 
years,  giving  us  to  look  directly  on  the  terrible  North,  present  to  us  in 
a  form  of  real  danger.  The  Captain  professed  no  feai's  from  such  causes, 
and  under  the  admirable  vigilance  of  his  command,  I  suppose  there  was 
not  much.  One  day  we  saw  porpoises,  as  in  the  Sound,  and  I  saw  twice 
vast  sheets  of  water  thrown  up  by  the  spouting  of  the  whale,  although 
himself  I  did  not  see. 

Enough.  The  voyage  is  over.  Brief,  prosperous,  yet  tedious.  And 
now  I  am  to  address  myself  to  the  business  of  my  journey.  I  have  come 
to  the  Waterloo  House,  to  a  delicious  breakfast,  including  honey,  straw- 
berries—  a  snug,  clean  room  and  the  luxuries  of  purifieation  and  rest. 
I  have  traversed  a  street  or  two,  enough  to  recognize  the  Old  World  I 
am  in.  I  am  beginning  to  admit  and  feel  the  impression  of  England. 
The  high  latitude,  deep  green  of  tree  and  land,  clouded  sky,  cool,  damp 
air ;  the  plain,  massive,  and  enduring  construction  of  fort,  dock,  store  and 
houses,  dark,  large,  brick  or  stone,  instantaneously  strike.  Thus  far  it 
seems  gloomy,  heavy,  yet  rich,  strong,  deep,  a  product  of  ages  for  ages. 
Yet  I  have  not  looked  at  any  individual  specimen  of  antiquity,  grandeur, 
power  or  grace.  I  have  attended  service  at  St.  George's  for  want  of 
knowing  where  to  go.  The  music  was  admirable,  forming  a  larger  part 
than  in  the  American  Episcopal  Service,  and  performed  divinely.  The 
sermon  was  light  and  the  delivery  cold,  sing-song,  on  the  character  of 
David. 

"  And  now  to  some  plan  of  time  and  movement  for  England.  Before 
breakfast  I  shall  walk  at  least  an  hour  observantly,  and  on  returning  jot 
down  anything  worth  it.     This  hour  is  for  exercise  however.     I  mean 

VOL.  I.  13 


14,6  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VII. 

next  to  read  every  day  a  passage  in  the  Bible,  a  passage  in  the  Old  and 
in  the  New  Testament,  beginning  each,  and  to  commit  my  '  Daily  Food.' 
Then,  I  must  carefully  look  at  the  papers,  for  the  purpose  of  thoroughly 
mastering  the  actual  English  and  European  public  and  daily  life,  and 
this  will  require  jotting  down,  the  debates,  the  votes,  chiefly.  Then  I 
must  get,  say  half  an  hour  a  day,  for  Greek  and  Latin  and  elegant 
English.  For  this  purpose,  I  must  get  me  an  Odyssey  and  Crusius,  and 
a  Sallust,  and  some  single  book  of  poems  or  prose,  say  Wordsworth. 
This,  lest  taste  should  sleep  and  die,  for  which  no  compensations  shall 
pay ! 

"  For  all  the  rest,  I  mean  to  give  it  heartily,  variously,  to  what  travel 
can  teach,  —  men  —  opinions  —  places,  —  with  great  effort  to  be  up  to 
my  real  powers  of  acquiring  and  imparting.  This  journey  shall  not  leave 
me  where  it  finds  me.  Better,  stronger,  knowing  more.  One  page 
of  some  law-book  daily,  I  shall  read.  That  1  must  select  to-morrow 
too. 

"  Friday,  12th  July.  —  I  must  write  less,  but  more  regularly,  or  the  idea 
of  a  journal  must  be  abandoned.  Tuesday  I  came  to  London,  a  beautiful 
day,  through  a  beautiful  land,  leaving  an  image,  a  succession  of  images, 
ineffaceable.  That  which  strikes  most  is  the  universal  cultivation,  the 
deep,  live,  fresh,  green  on  all  things,  the  hedge-fences,  the  cottages  small 
and  brick,  the  absence  of  barns,  and  the  stacks  of  hay  out  of  doors,  the  ex- 
cellent station  constructions,  the  gothic  spires  and  castles  here  and  there 
among  trees,  identifying  the  scene  and  telling  something  of  the  story. 
The  railroad  was  less  smooth  than  the  Lowell,  at  least  the  car  ran  less 
smoothly.  Here  and  there  women  were  at  work  in  the  fields.  I  know 
not  how  rich  was  the  land.  I  saw  no,  or  not  much,  waste,  and  the  main 
aspect  was  of  a  nearly  universal  and  expensive  culture. 

"  We  passed  through  Tamworth,  and  saw  at  a  distance  a  flag  at  half- 
mast  from  a  tower.  It  was  the  day  of  Sir  Robert  Peel's  funeral,  of  which, 
however,  we  saw  nothing.  Tuesday  eve,  Wednesday,  and  yesterday  I 
rambled,  and  to-day  have  lain  still.  I  ran  this  Avay  and  that,  like  a  boy, 
seeking  everywhere  and  finding  everywhere,  some  name  and  place  made 
classical  by  English  literary  or  general  history,  and  have  brought  off  a 
general,  vague,  yet  grand  impression  of  London,  with  no  particulars  of 
knowledge.  The  parks  are  sweet  spots,  quiet  and  airy,  but  plain.  Green 
Park,  at  least,  was  partially  dotted  by  flocks  of  sheep.  Buckingham 
Palace,  name  apart,  does  not  strike  much  more  than  the  Capitol  or 
President's  house.  Westminster  Abbey  externally  is  sublime.  The  new 
Parliament  House  will  be  showy. 

"  I  heard  a  cause  partially  opened  to  a  committee  of  Lords  ;  another 
partially  argued  to  the  jury  in  the  Exchequer ;  and  another  partially 
argued  to  the  Lord  Commissioners.  The  A.  G.  [Attorney-general]  Jer- 
vis,  [Sir  John  Jervis,]  and  Mr.  Cockburn,  [Alexander  E.  Cockburn,] 
open  respectively  for  and  versus  Pate,  for  striking  the  Queen.  There 
was  no  occasion  for  much  exertion  or  display,  and  there  was  nothing  of 
either.  Mr.  Cockburn  had  the  manner  of  Franklin  Dexter  before  the 
committee.  Mr.  Marten  seemed  animated  and  direct  in  a  little  Exchequer 
jury  cause.  Pate  would  have  been  acquitted  in  Massachusetts.  The 
English  rule  is,  —  knowledge,  or  want  of  it,  that  the  act  is  wrong.     The 


1850.]  JOURNAL— COURTS.  14,-7 

prisoner's  counsel,  in  my  judgment,  gave  up  his  case  by  conceding ;  he 
feared  he  should  faiL  I  thought  and  believed  he  might  have  saved  him. 
The  chief  judge  presiding,  Alderson,  [Sir  E.  H.  Alderson]  offended  me. 
He  is  quick,  asks  many  questions,  sought  unftivorable  replies,  repeats 
what  he  puts  down  as  the  answer,  abridged  and  inadequate.  The  whole 
trial  smacked  of  a  judiciary,  whose  members,  bench  and  bar,  expect  pro- 
motion from  the  Crown.  Their  doctrine  of  insanity  is  scandalous.  Their 
treatment  of  medical  evidence,  and  of  the  informations  of  that  science, 
scandalous. 

"  One  thing  struck  me.  All  seemed  to  admit  that  the  prisoner  was  so 
far  insane  as  to  make  whipping  improper !  yet  that  he  was  not  so  insane 
as  not  to  be  guilty.  Suppose  him  tried  for  murder,  how  poor  a  com- 
promise ! 

"  The  question  on  handwriting  was  '  do  you  believe  it  to  be  his  ? '  after 
asking  for  knowledge.  Opening  the  pleadings  is  useless,  except  to  the 
courts,  and  is  for  the  court.  The  counsel  interi'ogating  from  a  brief; 
leads  in  interrogation  being  very  much  on  uncontested  matter.  It  saves 
time  and  is  not  quarrelled  with.  The  speaker  is  at  too  great  a  distance 
from  the  jury.  Their  voices  are  uncommonly  pleasant ;  pronunciation 
odd,  affected,  yet  impressing  you  as  that  of  educated  persons.  Some,  Mr. 
Humphry,  Mr.  Cockburn,  occasionally  hesitated  for  a  word.  All  nar- 
rated dryly,  not  one  has  in  the  least  impressed  me  by  point,  force,  lan- 
guage, power  ;  still  less,  eloquence  or  dignity.  The  wig  is  deadly.  The 
Exchequer  Jury  sittings  were  in  Guildhall  as  were  the  C.  C.  Pleas.  Pate 
was  tried  at  the  Old  Bailey.  The  rooms  are  small,  —  never  all  full.  Mr. 
Byles  was  in  one  ins.  cause  in  C.  C.  Pleas. 

"  Last  eve,  I  heard  Sontag  and  Lablache  in  La  Tempeta  and  saw  the 
faded  Pasta.  1  returned  late,  and  am  sick  to-day,  a  little.  Bought  Kiih- 
ner's  Edition  of  the  Tusculan  Questions.  Mr.  Bates  called  and  made 
some  provision  for  our  amusement. 

"  I  read  Bible,  Prayer-Book,  a  page  of  Bishop  Andrews's  Prayers,  a 
half-dozen  lines  of  Virgil  and  Homer,  and  a  page  of  Williams's  Law  of 
Real  Property." 

THE    CONTINENT. 

"  July  19,  Friday.  —  Left  London  for  Folkstone,  whence  across  to  Bou- 
logne —  a  cloudy  day  terminating  in  copious  rain  —  through  which  the 
deep  green  of  English  landscape  looked  gloomy  and  uniform.  At  Folk- 
stone  which  is  a  few  miles  S.  W.  of  Dover,  just  built  up  to  be  a  terminus 
point  of  transit  of  railroad  and  steamboat  line  to  France  found  our  —  for 
the  present  —  last  P^nglish  hotel,  clean  bedrooms,  abundance  of  water, 
and  all  other  appointments,  and  all  well  administered  and  soundly  ex- 
acting. 

"  Saturday.  —  We  passed  in  the  steamboat  to  Boulogne,  breakfasted  at 
B.  and  came  to  Paris,  arriving  at  six.  The  passage  across  the  Channel 
was  on  a  foggy,  I'ainy  morning,  showing  that  renowned  water  drearily 
and  indistinctly,  and  a  little  darkening  our  first  experience  of  France. 
Nuraei'ous  vessels,  from  small  fishermen  of  both  coasts  to  large  merchant 
ships,  were  in  view  however,  and  I  recalled  with  Mr.  Prescott  the  occa- 


148  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VII. 

sions  when  Roman,  Saxon,  Danish  and  Dutch  keels  had  ploughed  it,  the  old 
intercourse  of  France  and  Scotland,  the  voyage  of  Mary,  the  descents  of  the 
Henrys  and  Edwards,  and  the  cruise  of  so  many  great  fleets,  in  so  many 
and  such  various  fortunes  of  England  and  France.  Mr.  P.  told  me  of 
Lockhart  who  interested  him  deeply,  thinks  freely,  despises  the  Bishops, 
utters  brilliant  sarcasms,  lives  retired,  sad,  and  independent.  Deaths  of 
the  loved,  the  bad  chai'acter  of  a  living  child,  with  other  unexplained 
causes,  are  supposed  to  cause  it.  He  saw  at  L's.  the  MSS.  of  Rob  Roy, 
the  first  hundred  pages  covered  with  second  thoughts  —  then  all  work- 
ing itself  consummate  by  the  first  effort.  He  related  sarcasms  of  Rogers, 
sneers  at  the  Bishop  of  Oxford,  Wilberforce  ;  —  the  incredible  touching 
and  altering,  by  which  the  historic  sheet  of  Macaulay  at  last  is  brought 
to  its  perfection ;  —  the  great  narrowness  of  all  male  and  female  Church 
adherents,  —  the  mendacious  reputation  of  Lord ,  telling  an  audi- 
ence at  Harrow,  his  father  and  grandfather  were  educated  there,  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  knowing  better.  By  the  time  we  were  ready  to 
leave  Boulogne  the  sun  came  out,  and  our  ride  to  Paris  was  lighted  by  a 
sweet,  glowing  summer's  day.  I  must  say  I  was  delighted  with  the  country. 
Part  of  our  way  was  quite  on  the  sea-shore,  as  far  as  Abbeville,  thence 
more  inland,  and  the  last  three  to  five  hours  lay  through  whole  prai- 
ries of  fields  ripe  with  wheat.  Till  now  I  had  no  conception  of  the  wheat 
culture  of  France,  nor  of  the  affluent  and  happy  aspect  with  which  the 
wheat  harvest,  when  nodding,  yellow,  over  level  plains,  up  the  sides  and 
to  the  tops  of  hills,  through  patches  of  trees,  five  miles  to  six  or  seven  in 
extent  on  each  side,  for  a  distance  of  fifty  miles,  robes  a  country.  Why, 
France,  if  all  like  this,  could  feed  Europe.  A  few  vineyards  were  inter- 
spersed here  and  thex'e  ;  chateaux  in  the  distance  and  the  towers  of  cathe- 
drals, with  men  and  women  at  tvork  in  the  fields,  completed  the  scene. 
Ah,  how  absurd,  yet  common,  to  think  of  Paris  only  as  France,  and  the  Dep- 
uties only  as  Paris.  How  English  media  refract  and  tinge.  The  cars  were 
the  best  I  ever  saw,  and  the  whole  railroad  administration,  rapid  and  in 
all  things  excellent.  I  am  come  to  Hotel  Canterbury.  Of  Paris  from 
the  station  I  avoided  seeing  much,  but  could  not  wholly  lose  the  narrow 
street  and  vast  height  of  houses  and  want  of  wealth  in  shop-windows. 
After  dinner,  at  nine  in  the  evening,  by  moonlight,  I  first  saw  Paris.  I 
walked  down  through  the  Place  Vendome,  looked  on  the  column  cast  of 
cannon,  towering  gloomy,  grim,  storied,  surmounted  by  Napoleon,  recog- 
nized even  so,  and  in  three  minutes  stood  in  the  Gardens,  before  the 
structure  of  the  Tuileries.  This  scene,  this  moment,  are  ineffaceable 
forever  !  Some  soldiers  in  uniform,  with  muskets  bayonetted,  marched  to 
and  fro  near  the  entrance.  Flundreds,  thousands  —  men,  women,  and 
children  —  were  walking  in  the  Garden,  in  paths  beneath  a  wood,  extend- 
ing, so  far  as  I  could  see,  without  limit ;  lights  twinkled  in  it  here  and 
there ;  vases,  statues,  reposed  all  around ;  fountains  were  playing, 
and  before  me  stretched  the  vast  front  of  the  Tuileries,  the  tricolor 
hanging  motionless  on  its  dome,  the  moonlight  sleeping  peacefully  and 
sweetly  on  the  scene  of  so  much  glory,  so  much  agony  —  a  historic  in- 
terest so  transcendent.  I  did  not  go  to  the  Seine,  nor  seek  for  definite 
ideas  of  locality,  or  extent ;  but  gave  myself  to  a  dream  of  France, 
'  land  of  glory  and  love.'     Far,  far  to  the  west,  I  remarked   an   avenue 


1850.]  JOURNAL  — PARIS.  14,9 

extending  indefinitely,  —  along  whose  sides,  at  what  seemed  an  immense 
distance,  twinkled  parallel  lines  of  lights.  1  did  not  then  know  that  it 
ran  to  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  —  the  Obelisk  —  and  thence  on,  on,  be- 
coming the  Avenue  of  the  Champs  Elysees  —  and  so  to  the  Arch  at  last. 
That  I  learned  the  next  morning. 

"  226?.  —  It  is  now  Monday  morning.  I  have  not  been  out  to-day  yet. 
But  yestez'day  I  saw  and  entered  Notre  Dame  and  the  Madeleine  — 
glorious  specimens  of  diverse  styles  —  pure  Gothic  and  Greek.  Notre 
Dame  impresses  as  a  mere  structure,  as  much  as  Westminster  Abbey. 
It  is  cruciform.  At  the  west  end  rise  two  vast  towers,  lofty,  and  elabo- 
rately finished  —  telling  of  a  thousand  years.  Between  these  you  enter 
and  are  in  the  nave.  Thence  you  may  wander  through  ranges  of  pillars 
from  which  the  pure  Gothic  arch  is  springing,  mark  along  the  sides  the 
numei'ous  chapels  in  recesses,  observe  the  two  vast  circular  windows  of 
the  transept,  and  look  up  to  the  ceiling  rising  as  a  firmament  above  you. 
No  statues  or  tablets  of  the  dead  are  here.  Pictures  of  sacred  subjects 
on  the  walls,  worshippers  here  and  there,  the  appointments  of  the  Papal 
service,  —  the  grand,  unshared,  unmodified  character  of  a  mere  cathedral 
is  on  it  all.  The  Madeleine  is  a  beautiful  Greek  temple,  showy  and 
noble.  The  Boulevards  terminate  there  —  thence  running  1  know  not 
how  far  —  a  vast,  broad  street  with  thousands  of  both  sexes  walking, 
sitting  outside  of  cafes,  drinking  coffee,  wine,  &c.,  the  whole  lined  by  miles 
of  shops,  cafes,  and  other  places  of  public  resort  —  glittering  and  full. 

^^  Monday,  22d  July. — This  morning  I  am  to  begin  a  more  detailed 
observation  of  Paris." 


"  Basle,  '2d  August,  Friday.  —  A  day  of  rain  and  a  headache  compel 
or  excuse  my  lying  by  till  to-morrow,  and  so  I  avail  myself  of  an  un- 
desired  and  unexpected  opportunity  to  recall  some  of  the  sights  that 
have  been  crowded  into  the  last  fortnight.  Left  Paris  Friday  eve,  July 
26,  for  Brussels,  to  which  point  we  came  to  breakfast  —  visited  Water- 
loo, and  next  morning  started  for  Cologne  where  we  arrived  at  sunset. 
On  Monday  went  to  Bonn  and  passed  the  afternoon  and  night, — mak- 
ing, however,  an  excursion  to  the  top  of  Drachenfels.  Thus  far  our 
journey  was  by  rail.  The  next  morning  we  embarked  on  the  Rhine  in 
the  steamer  Schiller,  and  ascended  to  Wiesbaden,  arriving,  by  aid  of  a 
quarter  or  half  an  hour  in  an  omnibus,  at  nine  o'clock.  On  Wednes- 
day we  came  by  rail  to  Kehl  opposite  and  four  miles  from  Strasburg, 
glancing  at  Frankfurt,  and  spending  three  hours  at  Heidelberg.  Yester- 
day we  crossed  to  Strasburg, — visited  the  Cathedral,  and  came  by  rail 
to  Basle  in  season  for  dinner  at  the  table  dliote.  And  now  what  from 
all  this  ?  I  shall  remember  with  constant  interest  Paris,  and  shall  ex- 
tend my  acquaintance  with  the  language,  literatui-e,  and  history  of  the 
strange  and  beautiful  France.  Besides  what  I  have  already  recorded,  I 
attended  a  sitting  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  —  an  assembly  of  good- 
looking  men  —  not  just  then  doing  anything  of  interest  —  most  interest- 
ing however  as  the  government,  and  the  exponent  and  multifarious  rep- 
resentation of  the  political  and  social  opinions  and  active  organ  of  a 
13* 


150  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VII. 

great  nation.  M,  Berryer  I  saw,  and  Eugene  Sue  and  M.  Mole.  M. 
Guizot  I  saw  afterwards  in  the  steamer  Schiller,  going  up  from  Bonn. 
He  left  the  boat  at  Coblentz.  Two  or  three  deputies  spoke  to  a  most 
freezing  inattention.  They  'got  the  floor'  in  their  seats,  then  went  to 
the  tribune,  laid  their  MSS.  at  their  side  —  and  went  to  it  as  we  lecture 
at  lyceuras.  Great  animation  —  much  gesture  —  a  constant  rising  in- 
flection at  the  end  of  periods  before  the  final  close  of  the  sentence  — 
an  occasional  look  at  the  MSS.  and  pull  at  the  tumbler  of  water  — 
some  pau sings  at  the  noise  of  inattention  —  this  is  all  I  could  appreciate. 
The  courts  of  law  pleased  me  too.  The  judges  in  cloaks  or  robes  of 
black,  with  capes,  —  quiet,  thoughtful,  and  dignified  ;  the  advocate  in  a 
cloak  and  bare-headed,  debating  with  animation,  and  no  want  of  dignity 
—  the  dress  and  manners  far  better  than  the  English  bar.  The  silk 
gown  or  cloak  is  graceful  and  fit,  and  might  well  have  been,  (it  is  too 
late  now,)  among  the  costumes  of  our  bar. 

"  This  was  all  I  saw  of  the  mind  of  France  in  political  or  executive 
action.  The  impression  I  bi'ought  from  them  was  of  great  respect.  In 
this  I  can  say  nothing  of  the  opinions,  or  wisdom  of  anybody.  The 
chamber  seemed  full  of  energy,  quickness,  spii'it,  capacity.  The  courts 
grave,  dignified,  among  forms,  and  in  halls,  of  age,  solemnity,  and  im- 
press! ven  ess.  Great  French  names  of  jurisprudence  came  to  my  mem- 
ory, and  I  learned  to  feel  new  regard  for  my  own  profession. 

"  The  rest  of  my  time  I  gave  to  the  storied  spectacles  of  Paris.  The 
Louvre,  a  part  of  which  was  closed  for  repairs,  leaving  enough  to  amaze 
one, —  such  a  wilderness  of  form,  color,  posture,  roof,  walls,  pedestals, 
alive  with  old  and  modern  art ;  Versailles,  holding  within  it  the  history 
of  the  nation  of  France,  tracing  in  picture  and  statue  its  eras,  showing 
forth  its  glory,  breathing  and  generating  an  intense  nationality,  with  here 
and  there  a  small  room,  a  boudoir  of  Marie  Antoinette,  or  a  confessional 
of  Louis  Sixteenth,  touching  a  softer  and  sadder  emotion ;  St.  Cloud,  of 
which  I  saw  only  the  delightful  exterior,  imperial,  grand ;  the  street  to 
Versailles  through  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  ;  the  little  chapel  over  the  first 
burial-place  of  Louis  Sixteenth  and  Marie  Antoinette,  full  of  deepest  and 
saddest  interest ;  the  Luxemburg,  its  deserted  chamber  of  the  Senate 
of  Napoleon  and  the  Peers  of  the  Restoration  and  Louis  Philippe's 
dynasty,  and  its  glorious  gallery  of  pictures  ;  the  Royal  Library  in  which  I 
was  disappointed  after  the  British  Museum,  but  where  are  some  old 
curiosities  and  a  capital  statue  of  Voltaire ;  —  these  are  of  my  banquet  of 
three  days.  I  went  through  the  Garden  of  Plants  too,  which  we  should 
imitate  and  beat  at  Washington ;  the  Place  de  Greve,  the  site  of  that 
guillotine ;  the  Hotel  des  Invalides ;  the  Pantheon,  disagreeable  as  a 
monument  to  the  dead ;  Pere-la-Chaise,  which  exceeded  my  expecta- 
tions, and  shows  France  affectionate  and  grateful  and  thoughtful  to  the 
loved  and  lost  ;  Place  Bastille,  sacred  by  its  column  to  the  Revolution 
of  183U,  —  with  interest,  and  sufficiently. 

"  The  cafes  and  cafe  dinners  are  a  strict  Parisian  fact  and  spectacle  — 
cooking,  service,  and  appointments,  artistical  as  a  theatre.  A  dinner  at 
the  '  Trois  Freres '  is  to  be  remembered.  And  so  adieu  to  France.  We 
entered  on  that  famous  soil  again  at  Strasburg  to  find  '  Liberte,  Egalite, 
Praternite,'  graven  on  every  national  front,  and  to  mark  the  quickness, 


1850.]  JOURNAL  —  BELGIUM.  I5I 

courtesy,  and  skill  with  which  all  things  are  done.  I  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  but  one  inhabitant  of  Pai-is  out  of  the  hotel,  M.  Bossano-e,  the 
bookseller  in  the  Quai  Voltaire,  polite,  kind,  and  honest,  of  whom  I  or- 
dered some  books. 

"  I  have  seen  Paris  with  any  feeling  but  that  of  disappointment.  I 
feel  no  other  at  least,  than  that  which  always  attends  the  substitution  of 
the  actual  spectacle  for  the  imaginary  one  which  rises  on  the  mind  of 
every  reader  of  an  event  or  description,  and  which,  by  a  thousand  repeti- 
tions, becomes  the  only  spectacle  which  can  fill  Jus,  mind  full.  I  have 
lost  the  Tuileries,  and  Boulevards,  and  Champs  Elysees,  and  Seine,  and 
Versailles,  and  St.  Cloud,  of  many  years  of  reading  and  reverie,  —  a  pic- 
ture incomplete  in  details,  inaccurate  in  all  things,  yet  splendid  and  ade- 
quate in  the  eye  of  imagination,  —  and  have  gained  a  reality  of  ground 
and  architecture,  accurate,  detailed,  splendid,  impressive  —  and  I  sigh! 

"  One  word  is  enough  for  Belgium.  Everywhere  and  instantly  you  are 
struck  with  the  vast  level  yet  varied  garden  of  agriculture,  through  which 
you  ride.  Every  inch  at  first  seems  tilled.  Wheat,  rye,  flax,  every- 
where—  a  wilderness,  a  prairie,  a  flood  of  cultivation.  You  see,  as  in 
France  and  Germany,  few  people  in  the  fields,  few  cottages.  It  seems 
to  be  tilled  by  night  by  unseen  hands.  I  gave  no  time  to  Brussels,  which 
evei'y  guide-book  describes,  but  rode  to  Waterloo  and  studied  that  locality, 
—  a  sweet,  undulating,  vast  wheat-field,  a  spot  memorable  and  awful 
above  all  I  shall  see  or  have  seen.  I  have  now  an  indelible  image,  by 
the  aids  of  which  I  can  read  anew  the  story  of  that  day  —  the  last  of  the 
battles!  I  retain  1st  the  short  line  along  which  the  two  armies  were 
ranged,  say  a  mile  or  a  mile  and  a  half  from  wing  to  wing ;  2d,  the 
narrow  space  of  valley  between  the  two  lines,  the  artillery  of  either 
posted  over  against  that  of  the  other  a  quarter  or  a  third  of  a  mile  apart ; 
3d,  the  inconsiderable,  easy  ascent  from  the  valley,  up  to  the  British 
ridge  ;  4th,  the  sufficiency  of  the  ridge  to  shelter  from  the  French  artil- 
lery ;  5th,  the  precise  position  and  aspect  of  the  shattered,  pierced,  and 
singed  Hougoumont  guarded  from  artillery  by  its  wood  —  guarded  in  its 
interior  citadel  by  a  brilliant  and  transcendent  courage  ;  6th,  La  Haye 
Sainte,  taken,  retaken,  held,  on  right  of  centre,  from  which  nothing  was 
reaped ;  7th,  the  place  of  the  terrific  attack  in  which  Pictou  fell,  and  the 
place  of  the  later,  final  attack,  now  obliterated  by  the  mound.  The  plan, 
series  —  attacks  on  Hougoumont  and  La  Haye  Sainte  —  cannonade  to 
prepare  —  charges  of  cavalry  met  by  squares,  charges  of  infantry  met 
by  anything.  The  following  years  undoubtedly  yielded  richer  crops  of 
wheat  than  before.  In  some  places  of  burial,  by  decay,  large  depressions 
of  earth  disclosed  themselves. 

"  I  am  glad  I  did  not  see  enough  of  Liege  to  correct  Quentin  Durward, 
and  I  was  glad  to  leave  Brussels  and  to  come  upon  Rhenish  Prussia, 
and  into  the  valley  of  the  Rhine,  all  at  once.  Everywhere  from  Brus- 
sels to  Cologne,  on  all  practicable  spots,  wheat,  wheat,  and  rye,  ripe  for 
the  sickle,  everywhere  the  same  universal  culture,  here  and  there  a  castle 
or  chateau,  or  harnessed  dog,  or  unintelligible  conversation,  reminded  me 
where  we  were. 

"  I  could  have  wished  to  stay  a  little  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  historically 
and  actually  striking ;  but  on  we  were  whirled  ;  the  valley  of  the  Rhine 


152  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIL 

opened,  a  vast  plain  with  no  river  yet  in  sight,  groaning  under  its 
wheat  spread  on  all  sides,  and  just  before  coming  to  the  great  old  gates 
of  Cologne,  the  river,  rapid,  majestic,  flashed  to  sight.  In  half  an  hour 
I  was  in  my  room  at  the  hotel,  and  looked  down  on  the  river  flowing  at 
my  very  feet  within  fifty  yards  of  the  house,  broad  and  free,  under  his 
bridge  of  boats. 

"  From  that  moment  to  this  my  journey  has  been  a  vision  of  the  Rhine. 
I  have  gained  new  images  and  knowledge,  new  materials  of  memory  and 
thought.  The  width,  rapidity,  volume,  tone  of  the  river,  exceed  all  my 
expectations.  But  the  aspects  of  its  shores  from  Bonn  to  Coblentz,  and 
its  whole  valley  again  from  Wiesbaden  to  Strasburg !  —  the  scenery  so 
diverse  ;  plain,  hill,  crag,  mountain,  vale ;  the  fields  and  patches  of  cul- 
ture, mainly  of  vine,  but  of  wheat,  too,  and  apple,  and  all  things,  which 
spread  and  brighten  to  the  very  tops  of  mountains ;  the  castellated  ruins, 
—  never  wholly  out  of  view ;  —  these  will  abide  forever.  The  mere 
scenery  is  nowhere,  except  at  two  points,  perhaps,  —  Coblentz  and  Hei- 
delberg, —  superior  to  the  North  River.  But  the  character  of  the  agri- 
culture, the  vine  as  well  as  wheat,  its  spread  over  every  inch  of  prac- 
ticable earth,  carried  as  by  a  nature  to  the  minutest  and  remotest  vein  of 
yielding  earth ;  the  history  of  the  river,  —  the  most  eastern  frontier  of 
imperial  Rome,  —  her  encampments  here  and  there,  discernible  still  in 
the  names  of  towns,  and  in  innumerable  works  of  military  or  fine  art,  — 
the  scene  of  so  many  more  recent  strifes  and  glories ;  the  ruins  resting 
so  grandly  on  so  many  summits,  —  the  record,  evei-y  one  of  them,  of  a 
thousand  years,  —  all  together  give  it  a  higher  and  different  interest.  I 
visited  the  library  at  Bonn,  —  a  university  to  which  Niebuhr  and  Schle- 
gel  would  give  fame,  —  of  130,000  to  180,000  volumes;  the  tops  of 
Drachenfels,  reminding  one  of  the  view  from  Holyoke  over  Northamp- 
ton, but  pervaded  by  this  high  and  specific  and  strange  historical  interest ; 
the  Castle  of  Heidelberg,  restoring  you,  grimly,  grandly,  the  old  feudal 
time,  and  opening  from  its  mouldering  turrets  a  sweet  and  vast  view  of  the 
Necker  and  the  valley  of  the  Necker  and  the  Rhine ;  and  the  Cathedral 
of  Strasburg,  where  mass  was  performing  and  a  glorious  organ  was  fill- 
ing that  unbounded  interior  with  the  grandest  and  the  sweetest  of  music, 
through  whose  pauses  you  heard  the  muttered  voice  of  the  priest,  and  the 
chanting  of  a  choir  wholly  out  of  sight.  Byron  does  not  overstate 
the  impression  of  the  Rhine,  nor  the  regrets  of  parting  from  it,  nor  the 
keen  sense  of  how  much  loved  and  absent  ones,  if  here,  would  heighten 
all  its  attractions.  The  points  of  particular  interest  are  the  Drachenfels, 
Coblentz,  with  Ehrenbreitstein,  Heidelberg,  the  cathedral  at  Strasburg ; 
but  the  general  impression  made  by  the  whole  Rhine  is  one  of  a  unity, 
identity,  entirety,  and  depth,  never  to  be  equalled,  never  to  be  resembled. 
Old  Rome  predominated  in  the  vision,  next  the  Middle  Age,  Church  and 
Barons,  then  the  age  of  Louis  XIV.,  then  the  form  of  Napoleon,  and  the 
passage  of  the  armies  of  modern  war.  The  Rhine  would  form  a  grand 
subject  of  a  lecture.  Compare  with  no  river.  Its  civilization  to  that  of 
the  Nile  is  recent  and  grand,  —  hence  no  river  may  rival. 

"  Our  steamer  was  Schiller.  I  saw  another  named  Goethe.  I  had  for- 
gotten the  most  glorious  cathedral  of  Cologne,  and  a  beautiful  picture  of 
Jews  weeping  at  Babylon  in  the  Museum.     The  choir  of  the  cathedral  is 


1850.]  JOURNAL  — BASLE.  253 

indeed  a  "  vision  " ;  a  single  harmony  of  the  boys  chanting  in  tiie  Stras- 
bourg affected  me  more  than  all  else  ! 

"  Dogs  draw  little  carts  in  Belgium.  Cows  ai'e  yoked  and  draw  bur- 
thens in  Prussia,  Baden,  Nassau.  Women  labor  in  all  the  fields.  Vines 
are  led  over  the  cottages,  and  flowers  planted  almost  up  to  the  rail  of  the 
car. 

"  Here  at  Basle  our  hotel  stands  on  the  side  of  the  Ehine  just  as  at 
Cologne,  but  here  the  river  rushes  I'apid  and  sounding,  and,  till  fretted 
and  swelled  by  this  rain,  its  color  was  a  clear  green.  All  things  show 
we  are  going  toward  his  sources,  or  to  his  cradle  of  mountains,  and  to- 
morrow we  approach  the  Alps.  The  river  passes  out  of  view,  and  the 
mountain  begins  to  claim  its  own  worship.  From  my  window  I  see  the 
flag  of  the  IJ.  S.  hung  from  the  window  of  the  Consulate,  in  mourning} 
I  have  visited  the  cathedral,  turned,  without  violence  or  inconoclasm, 
into  a  Protestant  church,  holding  the  grave  of  Erasmus. 

"  Political  life  forever  is  ended.  Henceforth  the  law  and  literature 
are  all.  I  know  it  must  be  so,  and  I  yield  and  I  approve.  Some  memo- 
rial I  would  leave  yet,  rescued  from  the  grave  of  a  mere  professional  man, 
some  wise  or  beautiful  or  interesting  page,  —  something  of  utility  to 
America,  which  I  love  more  every  pulse  that  beats. 

"  The  higher  charm  of  Europe  is  attributable  only  to  her  bearing  on 
her  bosom  here  and  there  some  memorials  of  a  civilization  about  seven  or 
eight  hundred  years  old.  Of  any  visible  traces  of  anything  earlier  there 
is  nothing.  All  earlier  is  of  the  ancient  life,  —  is  in  books,  —  and  may 
be  appropriated  by  us,  as  well  as  by  her  —  under  God  —  and  by  proper 
helps.  The  gathering  of  that  eight  hundred  years,  however,  collected 
and  held  here,  —  libraries,  art,  famous  places,  educational  spectacles  of 
architecture,  picture,  statue,  gardening,  fountains,  —  are  rich,  rich,  and 
some  of  them  we  can  never  have  nor  use. 

"  On  how  many  European  minds  in  a  generation  is  felt,  educationally, 
the  influence  of  that  large  body  of  spectacle,  specifically  European,  and 
which  can  never  be  transferred  ?  Recollect,  first,  that  all  her  books  we 
can  have  among  us  permanently.  All  her  history  we  can  read  and  know, 
therefore,  and  all  things  printed.  What  remains  ?  What  that  can  never 
be  transferred  ?  Picture,  statue,  building,  grounds ;  beyond  and  above, 
a  spirit  of  the  place  ;  whatsoever  and  all  wliich  come  from  living  in  and 
visiting  memorable  places.  How  many  in  Europe  are  influenced,  and 
how,  by  this  last  ?  The  recorded  history  affects  us  as  it  does  them.  In 
which  hemisphere  would  an  imaginative  and  speculative  mind  most  en- 
joy itself?  In  America,  land  of  hope,  liberty,  —  Utopia  sobered,  realized, 
to  be  fitted  according  to  an  idea,  with  occasional  visits  to  this  picture  gal- 
lery and  museum,  occasional  studies  here  of  the  objects  we  can't  have  ; 
or  here,  under  an  inflexible  realization,  inequalities  of  condition,  rank, 
force,  property,  tribute  to  the  Past,  —  the  Past ! !  ! 

"  Looking  to  classes :  Lst.  The  vast  mass  is  happier  and  better  in  Amer- 
ica, is  worth  more,  rises  higher,  is  freer ;  its  standard  of  culture  and  life 
higher.  2.  Property  holders  are  as  scarce.  3.  The  class  of  wealth, 
taste,  social  refinement,  and  genius,  —  how  with  them  ? 

1  General  Taylor  died  July  9,  1850. 


154  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VII. 

"  Mem.  The  enjoyment  of  an  American  of  refined  tastes  and  a  spirit 
of  love  of  man  is  as  high  as  that  of  a  European  of  the  same  class.  He 
has  all  but  what  visits  will  give  him,  and  he  has  what  no  visits  can  give 
the  other. 

"  What  one  human  being,  not  of  a  privileged  class,  is  better  off  in 
Europe  than  he  would  be  in  America  ?  Possibly  a  mere  scholar,  or  stu- 
dent of  art,  seeking  learning  or  taste,  for  itself,  to  accomplish  himself. 
But  the  question  is,  if  in  any  case,  high  and  low,  the  same  rate  of  mind,  and 
the  same  kind  of  mind,  may  not  be  as  happy  in  America  as  in  Europe. 
It  must  modify  its  aims  and  sources  somewhat,  live  out  of  itself,  seek  to 
do  good,  educate  others.  It  may  acquire  less,  teach  more ;  suck  into  its 
veins  less  nutriment,  less  essence,  less  perception  of  beauty,  less  relish  of 
it,  (this  I  doubt,)  but  diffuse  it  more. 

"  What  is  it  worth  to  live  among  all  that  I  have  seen  ?  I  think  access 
to  the  books  and  works  of  art  is  all.  There  is  no  natural  beauty  thus  far 
beyond  ours  —  and  a  storied  country,  storied  of  battles  and  blood  —  is 
that  an  educational  injiuence  ? 

"  Monday,  Aug.  5.  —  Lucei'ne.  This  is  then  Switzerland.  It  is  a 
sweet,  burning  midsummer's  morning  at  Lucerne.  Under  one  of  my 
windows  is  a  little  garden  in  which  I  see  currants,  cabbages,  pear-trees, 
vines  healthfully  growing.  Before  me  from  the  other,  I  see  the  lake  of 
Lucerne  —  beyond  it  in  farthest  east  I  see  the  snowy  peaks  of  Alps  —  I 
count  some  dozen  distinct  summits  on  which  the  snow  is  lying  composing 
a  range  of  many  miles.  On  my  extreme  right  ascends  Mt.  Pilate  — 
splintered  bare  granite,  and  on  the  other  Righi,  high  and  bold  yet  wooded 
nearly  to  the  top.  It  is  a  scene  of  great  beauty  and  interest  where  all 
'  save  the  heart  of  man '  may  seem  divine.  We  left  Basle  at  nine  on 
Saturday  morning  and  got  to  Zurich  that  evening  at  six.  This  ride 
opened  no  remarkable  beauty  or  grandeur,  yet  possessed  great  interest. 
It  was  performed  in  a  Diligence  —  the  old  Continental  stage-coach. 
And  the  impression  made  through  the  whole  day  or  until  we  approached 
Zurich,  was  exactly  that  of  a  ride  in  the  coach  from  Hanover  to  the 
White  Hills.  I  ascribe  this  to  the  obvious  circumstances  that  we  were 
already  far  above  the  sea,  were  ascending  along  the  bank  of  a  river, 
the  Rhine,  and  then  a  branch  which  met  us  rushing  full  and  fast  from  its 
mountain  sources  —  that  we  were  approaching  the  base  of  mountains  of 
the  first  class  in  a  high  northern  latitude.  The  agricultural  productions 
(except  the  exotic  vine)  the  grass,  weeds  moderate ;  wheat  —  clover  — 
white  weed  —  the  construction  of  the  valley  —  the  occasional  bends  and 
intervales  —  all  seemed  of  that  New  England.  There  was  less  beauty 
than  at  Newbury  and  Bath,  and  I  think  not  a  richer  soil,  —  certainly  a 
poorer  people.  They  assiduously  accumulate  manure,  and  women  of  all 
ages  were  reaping  in  the  fields. 

"  Zuricli  is  beautiful.  The  lake  extends  beautifully  to  the  south  be- 
fore it.  Pleasant  gardens  and  orchards  and  heights  lie  down  to  it  and 
adjoining  it.  And  here  first  we  saw  the  Alps  —  a  vast  chain.  The 
Glaciers  ranging  from  east  to  west  closing  the  view  to  the  south  — 
their  peaks  covered  with  snow  lay  along  as  battlements  unsupported 
beneath  of  a  city  of  the  sky  out  of  sight,  I  went  to  the  library  and 
asked  for  Orelli.     He  died  some  months  since.     Most  of  his  library  was 


1850.]  JOURNAL  —  LUCERNE.  -[^^ 

shown  ^e  standing  by  itself  in  the  public  collection  —  and  the  few  I 
could  stay  to  look  at  were  excellent  and  recent  editions  of  Greek  and 
Latin  classics.  I  obtained  of  his  widow  three  printed  thin  quartos  be- 
longing to  him  —  about  the  size  of  a  commencement  thesis  —  in  Latin. 

"All  things  in  Zurich  announce  Protestantism  —  activity  of  mind. 
The  University  —  the  books  —  the  learned  men  —  the  new  buildings  — 
the  prosperity. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  the  sweet  sensations  with  which  I  rode  the  fii'st 
five  or  ten  miles  from  Zurich  yesterday.  It  was  Sunday.  The  bells 
of  Zurich  were  ringing,  —  including  that  honored  by  the  preaching  of 
Zwingle,  —  and  men,  women,  and  children  were  dressed,  and  with  books 
wei-e  going  to  meeting.  Our  way  lay  for  some  time  along  the  shores  of 
the  lake,  through  gardens,  orchards,  and  fields  to  tlie  water's  edge ;  many 
of  them  of  the  highest  beauty.  Then  it  left  the  lake  to  ascend  the  Albis. 
This  is  an  excellent  road,  but  to  overcome  the  mountain  its  course  is 
zigzag  and  is  practicable  only  for  a  walk  of  the  horses.  I  got  out  and 
ascended  on  foot,  crossing  from  one  terrace  of  road  to  another  by  paths 
through  pleasant  woods.  As  I  ascended,  the  whole  valley  of  Zurich  — 
the  city  —  the  lake  in  its  whole  length  —  the  amphitheatre  of  .country 
enclosing  it  —  the  glorious  Alps,  and  at  last  Righi  and  Pilate  standing 
like  the  speaker's  place  in  a  Lyceum  with  an  audience  of  mountains 
vastly  higher  —  rising  into  the  peculiar  pinnacle  of  the  Alps  covered 
with  snow,  ascending  before  them  —  successively  evolved  itself.  I 
saw  over  half  of  Switzerland.  Spread  on  it  all  was  the  sweet,  not  op- 
pressive, unclouded  summer's  sunlight.  A  pure  clear  air  enfolded  it  — 
the  Sunday  of  the  pastoral,  sheltered  and  happy  world.  In  some  such 
scenes  the  foundations  of  the  Puritan  mind  and  polity  were  laid,  — 
scenes,  beautiful  by  the  side  of  Tempe  and  Arcady  —  fit  as  they  to 
nurse  and  shelter  all  the  kinds  of  liberty. 

"  We  descended  to  Zug  and  its  lake,  and  then  coasted  it  to  Lucerne. 
Last  evening  we  visited  the  emblematical  lion  and  sailed  on  the  lake. 
To-day  I  go  to  the  chapel  of  Tell.  The  first  view  of  the  peculiar  sharp 
points  of  Alps  was  just  from  the  very  top  of  Albis  on  the  southwest 
brow.  There  rose  Righi  and  Pilate,  and  east  —  apart  and  above  —  a  sort 
of  range  or  city  of  the  tents  of  an  encampment  in  the  sky.  They  rested 
on  nothing  and  seemed  architecture  of  heaven  —  pavilions  —  the  tents 
of  a  cavalcade  travelling  above  the  earth. 

"  Berne,  Wednesday  1th.  —  We  left  Lucerne  at  seven  in  our  own  hired 
voiture,  and  with  one  change  of  horses  treating  ourselves  to  two  long 
pauses,  arrived  here  at  eight  o'clock  —  the  last  two  hours  through  a 
thunder  shower.  The  way  gave  me  much  of  the  common  and  average 
life  of  Switzerland,  lying  through  two  of  its  great  Cantons.  What  I  saw 
of  Lucerne  disappointed  me.  The  soil  I  should  think  cold  and  ungrate- 
ful and  the  mind  of  the  laborer  not  open.  Crucifixes  everywhere,  and 
all  over  everything  —  weeds  in  corn  and  grass.  Once  in  Berne  all 
changes.  Man  does  his  duty.  Excellent  stone  bridges  ;  good  fences  ; 
fewer  weeds  ;  more  wheat  and  grass  ;  more  look  of  labor ;  better  build- 
ing ;  better,  newer,  larger  houses  and  barns  ;  no  crucifixes  ;  express 
the  change.  Throughout  I  find  a  smallish,  homely  race,  and  pursue  the 
dream  of  Swiss  life  in  vain.     Yet  in  these  valleys,  on  the  sides  of  these 


156  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VII. 

hills,  in  these  farm  houses  scattered  far  and  near,  though  all  is,  cut  off 
from  the  great  arterial  and  venous  system  of  the  world  of  trade  and  in- 
fluence—  though  the  great  pulse  of  business  and  politics  beats  not  — 
though  life  might  seem  to  stagnate  —  is  happiness,  and  goodness  too. 
Sometimes  a  high  Swiss  mind  emerges,  and  speaking  a  foreign  or  dead 
tongue,  —  or  migrating,  asserts  itself.  Berne  is  full  of  liveliness  and 
recency  as  well  as  eld.  I  have  run  over  it  before  bx'eakfast  and  shall 
again  before  we  go. 

"  I  saw  at  Berne  the  place  of  the  State  bears,  and  two  of  the  pensioners 

—  the  high  terraced  ground  of  view  —  the  residence  of  the  patricians  — 
and  the  Cathedral,  containing  among  other  things,  tablets  to  the  memory 
of  those  who  fell  in  1798,  enumerating  them,  —  and  the  painted  windows 
of  Protestant  satire.  Our  journey  to  Vevay  had  little  interest,  a  grim 
horizon  of  cloud  and  a  constant  fall  of  rain  wholly  obscured  the  Alps. 
Fryeburg  is  striking  —  its  suspended  bi'idge  sublime  —  and  it  holds  one 
of  the  best  organs  of  the  world.  We  arrived  here  [Vevay]  at  ten  and 
I  have  this  morning  looked  out  on  the  whole  beauty  of  this  part  of  the 
lake  —  from  Hauteville  and  from  a  point  on  the  shore  above  it  and 
towards,  the  direction  of  Chillon,  —  and  admitted  its  supreme  interest,  and 
its  various  physical  and  associated  beauty.  The  day  is  clear  and  warm 
and  still.  The  slightest  breeze  stirs  the  surface  of  the  lake,  light  clouds 
curl  half  way  up  the  steep  shores  —  float  —  vanish  —  and  are  succeeded 
by  others  —  a  summer's  sun  bathes  a  long  shore  and  inland  rising  from 
the  shore,  clad  thick  with  vines  ;  —  yonder,  looking  to  the  southeast  upon 
the  water  —  in  that  valley  —  sheltered  by  the  mountain  —  nestling  among 
those  trees  —  embraced  and  held  still  in  the  arms  of  universal  love  is 
Clarens  —  fit,  unpolluted  asylum  of  love  and  philosophy  ;  before  it,  on 
its  left,  is  the  castle  of  Chillon  ;  more  directly  before  it  the  mouth 
of  the  Rhone,  here  resting  a  space  in  his  long  flight  from  his  glacier- 
source  ;  far  off  west  stretched  the  Lake  of  Geneva  at  peace  —  here  and 
there  a  white  sail  —  the  home  —  the  worship  —  the  inspiration  of  Rous- 
seau and  De  Stael  —  the  shelter  of  liberty  —  the  cradle  of  free  thinking 

—  the  scene  in  which  the  character  and  fortunes  of  Puritanism  were 
shaped  and  made  possible  —  the  true  birthplace  of  the  civil  and  religious 
order  of  the  northern  New  World. 

^'•Geneva,  %th  Aug.  Friday.  —  The  lake  was  smooth  and  bright,  and  our 
voyage  of  five  hours  pleasant  and  prosperous ;  and  we  had  the  extraor- 
dinary fortune  to  witness  what  we  are  assured  was  the  best  sunset  on 
Mont  Blanc  for  years.  Long  after  the  sun  had  sunk  below  our  earth, 
the  whole  range  of  the  mountain  was  in  a  blaze  with  the  descending 
glory.  At  first  it  was  a  mere  reflection,  from  a  long  and  high  surface,  of 
the  sun's  rays.  Gradually  this  passed  into  a  golden  and  rosy  hue,  then 
all  darkened  except  the  supreme  summit  itself,  from  which  the  gold-light 
flashed,  beamed,  some  time  longer ;  one  bright  turret  of  the  building  not 
made  with  hands,  kindled  from  witliin,  self-poised,  or  held  by  an  unseen 
hand.  Under  our  feet  ran  the  Rhone,  leaping,  joyful,  full,  blue,  to  his  bed 
in  the  Meditei-ranean.  Before  us  is  the  city  of  thought,  liberty,  power, 
influence,  the  beautiful  and  famous  Geneva.  More  than  all  in  interest 
was  the  house  of  the  father  of  Madame  de  Stael,  and  the  home  of  the 
studies  of  Gibbon. 


1850.]  JOURNAL  —  CHAMOUNY.  i^n 

'■^  Paris,  Aug.  18.  —  I  went  on  Saturday,  Aug.  10,  to  the  nearer  con- 
templation of  Mont  Blanc,  at  Chamouny.  Most  of  that  journey  lies 
through  Savoy,  of  the  kingdom  of  Sardinia,  even  as  far  as  St.  Martin, 
and  beyond  somewhat,  a  well-constructed  royal  road.  Witliin  the  first 
third  I  should  think  of  the  day's  ride  out  from  Geneva,  and  long  before 
Mont  Blanc  again  reveals  himself,  (for  you  lose  sight  of  him  wholly  in  a 
mile  or  two  out  of  the  city,)  you  enter  a  country  of  much  such  scenery  as 
the  Notch  of  the  White  Mountains.  An  excellent  road  ascends  by  the 
side  of  the  Arve,  itself  a  mad,  eager  stream,  leaping  from  the  mer  de  glace, 
and  running  headlong,  of  the  color  of  milk  mixed  with  clay,  to  the  Rhone, 
below  Geneva,  on  each  side  of  which  rise  one  after  another,  a  succession 
of  vast  heights,  some  a  half-mile  to  a  mile  above  you,  all  steep,  more  than 
even  perpendicular,  and  even  hanging  over  you,  as  projecting  beyond 
their  base.  These  are  so  near,  and  your  view  so  unobstructed,  and  they 
are  all  of  a  height  so  comprehensible  and  appreciable,  so  to  speak,  so  little 
is  lost  by  an  unavailing  elevation,  that  they  make  more  impression  than  a 
mountain  five  times  as  high.  It  is  exactly  as  in  the  Notch,  where  the 
grandeur  instead  of  being  enthroned  remote,  dim,  and  resting  in  measure- 
ment, and  demanding  com))arisons  and  thoughts,  is  near,  palpable,  and 
exacting.  Down  many  of  these  streamed  rivulets  of  water,  silver  threads 
of  hundreds,  perhaps  of  thousands,  of  feet  long  from  source  to  base  of  cliff; 
often  totally  floating  off  from  the  side  of  the  hill  and  the  bed  in  which 
they  had  begun  to  run  in  a  mere  mist  which  fell  like  rain,  and  farther 
down,  and  to  the  right  or  left  of  the  original  flow,  were  condensed 
again  into  mere  streams.  These  have  no  character  of  waterfall  as  you 
ride  along,  but  discharge  a  great  deal  of  water  in  a  very  picturesque,  hol- 
iday, and  wanton  fashion.  This  kind  of  scenery  grows  bolder  and  wilder, 
and  at  last  and  suddenly  at  St.  Martin  we  saw  again,  above  it,  and  be- 
yond it  all,  the  range  of  Mont  Blanc,  covered  with  snow,  and  at  first  its 
summit  covered  too  with  clouds.  Thenceforth  this  was  ever  in  view,  and 
some  hours  before  sunset  the  clouds  lifted  themselves  and  vanished,  and 
we  looked  till  all  was  dark  upon  the  unveiled  summit  itself.  Again  we 
had  a  beautiful  evening  sky  ;  again,  but  this  time  directly  at  the  foot  of 
the  mountain  we  stood,  and  watched  the  surviving,  diminishing  glory,  and 
just  as  that  faded  from  the  loftiest  peak,  and  it  was  night,  I  turned  and 
saw  the  new  moon  opposite,  within  an  hour  of  setting  in  the  west.  From 
all  this  glory,  and  at  this  elevation,  my  heart  turned  homeward,  and  I 
only  wished  that  since  dear  friends  could  not  share  this  here,  I  could  be 
by  their  side,  and  Mont  Blanc  a  moi'ning's  imagination  only. 

"  My  health  hindered  all  ascensions.  I  lay  in  bed  on  Sunday,  reading  a 
little,  di-earaing  more,  walked  to  the  side  of  one  glacier,  and  on  Monday 
returned  to  Geneva  to  recruit.  After  a  day  of  nursing,  we  on  Wednes- 
day, 14th  August,  started  for  Paris,  and  arrived  last  evening.  Our  first 
three  days  was  by  post-horses  and  a  hired  carriage,  and  brought  us  to 
Tonnerre.  The  first  day  ended  at  Champagnole,  and  was  a  day  of  as- 
cending and  descending  Jura.  We  passed  thi-ough  Coppet  however,  and 
I  had  the  high  delight  of  visiting  the  chateau  and  the  grounds  which  were 
the  home  of  Madame  de  Stael,  and  of  looking,  from  a  distance  still,  on 
the  tomb  where  she  is  buried.  The  chateau  could  not  be  entered,  but  it 
is  large,  looks  well,  and  beholds  the  lake  directly  before  it,  spread  deli- 

VOL.   I.  14 


158  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VII. 

ciouslj  to  the  right  and  left.  I  walked  up  and  down  the  grounds,  and 
over  a  path  where  she  habitually  walked  and  wrote,  and  thought  and 
burned  with  the  love  of  fame,  and  France,  —  and  plucked  a  leaf.  She 
helped  to  shape  my  mind,  and  to  store  and  charm  it.  My  love  for  her 
began  in  college,  growing  as  I  come  nearer  to  the  hour  when  such 
tongues  must  cease,  and  such  knowledge  vanish  away.  Almost  in  sight 
was  Lausanne.  Jura  is  climbed  by  a  noble  road  which,  if  possible, 
grows  better  all  the  way  to  Tonnerre.  Both  sides  seem  cold,  and  wooded, 
not  grateful  to  the  husbandman,  and  upon  the  whole,  the  country  till  we 
left  the  Jura  at  Poligny  was  not  interesting.  A  French  fortification  is 
building  on  the  line,  —  beggary  ceased  instantly,  —  some  saw-mills  to 
manufacture  timber,  —  and  for  the  rest  it  is  a  moderately  good  farming 
country. 

"  At  Poligny  a  new  image  !  The  vast  plain  of  Franche-Comte,  and 
then  of  Burgundy  opened  before  us,  and  for  near  two  whole  days,  and  a 
hundred  miles,  we  rode  through  vast  fields  of  excellent  Indian  corn,  and 
then  through  the  great  grape  region,  all  productive  of  famous  wine  ;  some 
rare  and  privileged  spots,  the  cote  du  vin,  productive  of  the  most  re- 
nowned wine  in  the  world.  Generally  the  eye  turned  every  way  on  a 
plain.  On  this  rose  some  undulations,  and  these  grew  more  and  more 
numerous  as  we  approached  the  hither  limit  of  Burgundy.  And  this 
plain,  thus  undulating,  sometimes  rising  to  hills,  was  covered  all  over  with 
the  two,  not  kindred,  yet  not  dissimilar,  and  both  rich,  harvests  of  maize 
and  vine.  Peace,  quiet  labor,  good  husbandry,  and  an  ample  return,  a 
peasantry  of  good  looking  men  and  women,  and  well-clad  children,  large 
houses,  whereof  barn  is  part,  the  name  and  history  of  Burgundy,  all  to- 
gether left  an  image  sweet,  peculiar,  memorable. 

"  Quentin  Durward,  Louis  XL,  Philip  de  Comines,  Charles  the  Bold,  the 
whole  Ducal  life,  the  whole  vast  struggle  of  centralization,  seem  hence- 
forth to  have  a  clearer  significance,  and  a  more  real  inherence  in  locality. 
Dijon  is  full  of  the  Ducal  name  and  being.  At  Montbard,  ray  dining- 
room  window  looked  on  the  solitary  tower-study  of  BufFon,  a  sight  of  deep 
and  sad  interest.  At  Tonneri-e  we  took  the  rail,  and  soon  the  valley  of 
the  Saone  and  Rhone,  the  slope  to  the  Mediterranean  was  left  behind, 
and  we  came  upon  the  tributaries  of  the  Seine,  the  waters  of  the  Cote 
d'Or,  and  of  the  English  Channel.  Two  hours  we  gave  to  Fontainbleau. 
With  a  different,  and  in  some  respects,  less  interest  than  Versailles,  it  has 
a  charm  of  its  own.  There  is  the  private  life  of  French  kings.  St.  Louis, 
Louis  XIIL,  Francis  I.,  Henry  IV.,  Louis  XV.,  Napoleon,  —  are  there 
671  famille,  the  home  of  kings.  The  spot  of  the  '  Adieux  at  Fontaine- 
bleau,'  near  the  foot  of  the  staircase  in  the  court,  the  table  of  the  signing 
of  the  abdication ;  his  throne,  his  bedroom,  the  dining-hall,  the  chapel  of 
the  two  marriages,  (of  Louis  XV.,  and  of  the  late  Duke  of  Orleans, 
whose  tomb  I  have  just  visited,)  the  glorious  Gobelins,  old  and  new,  the 
hall  of  Henry  and  Diana  (of  Poictiers,)  and  of  Francis,  the  gardens  be- 
hind, the  striking  of  the  clock,  —  all  are  worth  a  sight,  a  hearing,  a  mem- 
ory, a  sigh. 

"  This  approach  to  Paris  is  beautiful.  The  valley  of  the  Seine,  stretch- 
ing as  far  as  the  sight,  the  vine  everywhere,  yet  flocks  of  sheep,  rye-fields, 
forest  of  royal  chase  interspersed  and  contrasted,  and  at  last  the  dome 


1850]  JOURNAL  —  ENGLAND.  j^g 

of  the  Invalides,  and  the  solemn  towers  of  Notre  Dame,  —  these  are  its 
general  spectacle  and  its  particular  images  some  of  them. 

"  To-day  I  have  attended  vespers  at  St.  Denis,  and  have  visited  the  tomb 
of  the  Duke  of  Orleans.  They  showed  us  the  restored  series  of  the  French 
royal  dead,  and  gave  us  the  loud  and  low  of  the  grandest  organ  ;  and 
then  I  saw  at  the  chapel,  which  is  the  tomb  of  the  Duke,  such  a  minglino' 
of  sharp  grief;  parents  and  brothers  in  agony  for  the  first-born,  and  the 
dearly  loved;  the  son,  brother  and  heir-apparent,  with  crushed  hopes; 
perishing  dynasties ;  as  few  other  spots  of  earth  may  show.  If  Thiers 
and  Guizot  were  there,  their  thoughts  might  wander  from  the  immediate 
misery  to  the  possible  results ;  they  might  reflect  that  not  only  the  imme- 
diate heir,  but  the  only  loved  of  France  of  that  line  was  dying.  The 
organ  was  played  just  enough  to  show  what  oceans  and  firmaments  full 
of  harmony  are  there  accumulated.  Some  drops,  some  rivulets,  some 
grandest  peals  we  heard,  identifying  it,  and  creating  longings  for  more. 
The  first  time  I  have  seen  a  Louis  XI.  was  in  that  royal  cemetery.  He 
wears  a  little,  low  hat,  over  a  face  of  sinister  sagacity. 

"  Cambridge,  \st  Sept. —  Since  I  came  to  Dover,  (Aug.)  my  whole  time 
has  passed  like  a  sweet  yet  exhausting  dream.  England  never  looked  to 
any  eye,  not  filial,  so  sweet  as  I  found  it  from  Dover  to  London.  It  was 
the  harvest  home  of  Kent ;  and  the  whole  way  was  through  one  great 
field  —  through  a  thousand  rather  —  some  nodding  yellow  and  white, 
waiting  the  sickle ;  some  covered  with  the  fallen  and  partially  gathered 
grain  ;  some  showing  a  stubble  —  extensive  —  the  numerous  and  large 
stacks  shaped  and  clustered  as  houses  in  villages,  embodying  the  yield ; 
some  green  with  hops,  grass,  turnips  ;  everywhere  glorious  groves  of 
great  trees ;  everywhere  trees  standing  large,  hale,  independent,  —  one 
vast,  various,  yet  monotonous  image  of  the  useful,  plain,  rich,  and  sci- 
entific agriculture  of  England.  Came  to  London.  I  saw  the  interior  of 
St.  Paul's,  the  parks  ;  heard  in  some  fashionable  ladies'  society  a  story  or 
two  of  Brougliam  ;  heard  Grisi  and  Mario  in  three  operas,  —  Xorraa ; 
another  by  Donizetti,  comic,  but  a  reckless  squandering  of  delicious 
music  on  a  story  of  a  lover  seeking  a  potion  to  make  him  loved  ;  and 
finally  Don  Giovanni ;  the  trio,  and  the  solo  of  Mario,  by  far  the  best 
music  I  ever  heard  in  that  kind.  Mario  is  handsome  —  voluptuously; 
his  voice  flexible,  firm,  rich  as  a  clarionet. 

"But  from  London  what  have  I  not  seen  !  Twickenham  ;  Pope's  Grotto 
—  the  views  through  it — Richmond  Hill,  and  its  wealth  of  beautiful 
aspects;  Hampton  Court,  so  glorious  in  its  exterior  of  trees,  grounds, 
avenue,  park  —  so  disappointing  within,  yet  leaving  an  impression  of  Wil- 
liam III. ;  Kensington,  known  to  the  world  as  a  great,  useful,  botanic 
garden  ;  Gray's  home  and  poetical  nourishments  —  the  church-yard,  ivy 
tower  —  mouldering  heaps  —  yew-tree,  his  own  monument,  his  view  of 
Eton  —  the  ride  to  and  fro  —  the  most  intensely  rw'ol  England  ;  Eton 
itself —  the  palace  and  the  matchless  prospect  from  the  keep  ;  "Windsor 
forest.  Old  AVindsor  —  the  valley  of  the  Thames,  and  all  the  scenes 
which  the  Augustan  poetry  of  England  loved,  by  which  it  was  fed  and 
stimulated,  on  which  a  greater  than  that  school  loved  to  look,  and  has 
done  something  to  endear  and  to  immortalize. 


160  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS  CHOATE.  [Chap.  VII. 

"  When  this  was  done,  there  was  left  to  see  the  University  —  physical 
and  mental  architecture  of  England.  I  am  glad  I  went  first  to  Oxford. 
I  am  doubly  and  forever  grateful  and  glad,  that  the  last  great  impression  I 
shall  take  and  hold  of  England  is  to  be  that  conveyed  by  the  University 
of  Cambridge.  This  day,  Sunday,  I  have  passed  here  at  Cambridge, 
with  perhaps  as  keen  and  as  various  a  pleasure  as  I  ever  felt,  —  except  at 
home,  or  in  a  book.  But  I  begin  with  Oxford.  The  country  on  the  way 
disappointed  me  in  the  first  place.  The  whole  city  and  the  Colleges  did 
so,  even  more  cruelly,  in  the  next  place.  Something  I  ascribe  to  the 
day,  —  dark  and  cold,  —  but  not  much.  The  Isis  does  nothing  for  Ox- 
ford, that  I  could  see,  though  some  of  the  college  walks  are  on  its  mea- 
dows. The  exterior  of  the  Colleges,  so  far  as  I  saw,  was  not  old  only  — 
that  was  well  —  but  all  old,  only  old,  grim,  and  with  a  worn  and  neglected 
look,  as  if  the  theory  were  to  keep  forever  before  the  eye  the  old,  old 
time  and  art  and  product,  unwarmed,  unaeidulated,  unenlivened  by  the 
circulation  of  a  drop  of  later  life.  I  visited,  however,  the  dining  hall  of 
Christ's  Cliurch,  and  its  chapel  and  library,  with  interest,  yet  oppressed 
at  every  step  with  —  I  know  not  what  —  of  the  retrograding  or  station- 
ary and  narrow  and  ungenial  in  opinion,  in  policy,  in  all  things.  The 
Bodleian,  impressed  by  its  real  wealth  and  spaciousness.  Altogether  it 
seemed  a  place  for  rest,  for  inertness,  for  monastic  seclusion,  for  a  dream, 
and  a  sigh  after  the  irrevocable  past. 

"This  day  at  Cambridge  has  been  such  a  contrast  that  I  distrust  myself. 
The  country  from  London,  in  spite  of  heavy  cloud  and  chill,  was  beauti- 
ful,—  an  undulating  and  apparently  rich  surface,  strongly  suggestive  of 
the  best  of  Essex  and  Middlesex.  The  impression  made  by  the  Univer- 
sity portion  of  Cambridge  I  can  scarcely  analyze.  The  architecture  is 
striking.  The  old  is  kept  in  i-epair ;  the  nevv  harmonizes,  and  is  intrin- 
sically beautiful,  so  that  here  seems  a  reconciliation  of  past,  present,  and 
of  the  promise  of  the  future.  Conservation  and  progress  —  the  old, 
beautified,  affectionately  and  gracefully  linked  to  the  present,  —  an  old 
field  of  new  corn  —  the  new  recalling  the  old,  filial,  reverential,  yet  look- 
ing forward  —  running,  running,  a  race  of  hope.  The  new  part  of  St. 
John  is  beautiful ;  all  of  King's  is  striking,  too.  I  attended  the  cathedral 
service  in  King's  Chapel,  as  striking  as  St.  George's  in  London,  and  then 
for  a  few  minutes  went  to  the  University  Chapel,  and  again  to  All  Saints' 
to  see  the  tablet  and  statue  of  Kirk  White.  The  courts,  buildings,  and 
grounds  of  Trinity  are  beautiful  and  impressive  ;  and  in  my  life  I  have 
never  been  filled  by  a  succession  of  sweeter,  moi'e  pathetic,  more  thrill- 
ing sensations  than  in  looking  from  the  window  of  Newton's  room,  walk- 
ing in  his  walks,  recalling  the  series  of  precedent,  contemporaneous,  .and 
subsequent  companionship  of  great  names  whose  minds  have  been  trained 
here,  and  which  pale  and  fade  before  his  !  The  grounds  of  Ti'inity,  St. 
John,  St.  Peter,  are  the  finest  I  have  seen  ;  the  two  former  on,  and 
each  side  of,  the  Cam,  which  is  bridged  by  each  college  more  than  once, 
divided  and  conducted  around  and  through  the  gardens,  so  as  artificially 
to  adorn  them  more,  and  to  be  made  safe  against  inundation, —  the  latter 
not  reaching  to  the  river,  but  even  more  sweet  and  redolent  of  more  and 
more  careful  and  tasteful  and  modern  horticulture.  I  seem  to  find  here 
an  image  of  the  true  and  the  great  England.     Here  is  a  profusion  of 


1850.]  JOURNAL— CAMBRIDGE.  IgJ 

wealth,  accumulated  and  appropriated  for  ages,  to  a  single  and  grand  end, 
—  the  advancement  of  knowledge  and  the  imparting  of  knowledge.  It  is 
embodied  to  the  eye  in  a  city  of  buildings,  much  of  it  beautiful,  all  of  it 
picturesque  and  impressive,  and  in  grounds  shaded,  quiet,  fittest  seats  of 
learning  and  genius.  Something  there  is  of  pictures  ;  great  libraries  are 
here.  Learned  men,  —  who  are  only  the  living  generation  of  a  succession 
which,  unbroken,  goes  back  for  centuries,  and  comprehends  a  vast  pi'o- 
portion  of  the  mind  of  the  nation  in  all  its  periods,  —  in  increasing  num- 
bers, tenant  these  walls,  and  are  penetrated  by  these  influences.  A  union 
of  the  old,  the  recent,  the  present,  the  prediction  of  the  future,  imaged  in 
the  buildings,  in  the  grounds,  by  everything,  is  manifested,  —  giving  assur- 
ance and  a  manifestation  of  that  marked,  profound  English  policy,  which 
in  all  things  acquires  but  keeps,  —  and  binds  the  ages  and  the  generations 
by  an  unbroken  and  electric  tie." 

The  Journal  abruptly  breaks  off  with  this  heartfelt  tribute, 
and  was  never  resumed. 

From  this  the  travellers  went  to  the  north  of  England, 
to  Edinburgh,  Abbottsford,  Glasgow,  and  through  the  low- 
lands of  Scotland,  and  embarking  at  Liverpool,  reached  home 
in  September. 


14* 


IQ2  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIII. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

1850-1855. 

Political  Excitement  — Union  Meetings  —  Address  on  "Washington,  Feb.  1851 
—  Tlie  Case  of  FairehilJ  v.  Adams  —  Addi'ess  before  the  "Story  Associa- 
tion"—  Webster  Meeting  in  Faneuil  Hall,  Nov.  1851  —  Argues  an  india- 
Rubber  Case  in  Trenton  —  Baltimore  Convention,  June,  1852 —  Address  to 
the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society,  Burlington,  Vt.  —  Journey  to  Quebec  —  Death 
of  Mr.  Webster  —  Letter  to  E.  Jackson  —  Letter  to  Harvey  Jewt-II,  Esq. — 
Letter  to  Mrs.  Eames  —  Otfer  of  the  Attorney-Generalyhip —  Convention  to 
revise  the  Constitution  of  Massachusetts  —  Eulogy  on  Daniel  Websler,  at 
Dartmouth  College  —  Letter  to  his  Daugliter  —  Letters  to  Mrs.  Eames  — 
Letter  to  Mr.  Everett  —  Letters  to  his  Son — Letters  to  his  Daughter  — 
Address  at  the  Dedication  of  the  Peabody  Institute,  Sept.  1854  —  Letters 
to  Mr.  Everett  —  Letter  to  Mrs.  Eames  —  Accident  and  Illness  —  Letters 
to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eames. 

The  state  of  the  country  in  1850  was  such  as  to  cause 
great  anxiety  among  thoughtful  men.  The  whole  year  was 
marked  by  a  political  excitement  second  only  in  intensity  to 
that  which  has  since  produced  such  momentous  results.  The 
acquisition  of  new  territory  from  Mexico  re-opened  the  ques- 
tion of  slavery.  On  the  "Jth  of  March,  Mr.  Webster  made 
his  memorable  speech, on  "  The  Constitution  and  the  Union." 
The  law  for  the  return  of  fugitive  slaves  excited  much  oppo- 
sition among  a  portion  of  the  people  at  the  North,  while  at  the 
South  there  was  wide-spread  apprehension  and  discontent. 
This  feeling  was  exasperated  in  both  parts  of  the  country,  by 
intemperate  harangues,  and  inflammatory  appeals  through  the 
newspapers.  The  excitement  became  at  last  so  stron"*,  that 
judicious  and  conservative  men  felt  bound  to  protest  against, 
and,  if  possible,  allay  it.  Accordingly,  Union  meetings  were 
held  in  different  States, — in  Alabama,  Kentucky,  Ohio,  New 
York,  Pennsylvania,  New  Hampshire,  and  Massachusetts, — 
and  sound  men  of  all  parties  united  to  deprecate  the  disloyal 
and  hostile  sentiments  which  were  too  frequently  heard.  The 
meeting  in  Boston  was  held  in  Faneuil  Hall,  on  the  26th  of 


1850-1855.]  ADDRESS   ON  WASHINGTON.  J  63 

November.  It  was  opened  by  Hon.  Benjamin  R.  Curtis,  M'ith 
an  address  of  great  compactness  and  power,  and  closed  with  a 
speech  from  Mr.  Choate  replete  with  profound  feeling  as  well 
as  broad  and  generous  patriotism  ;  far-sighted  and  wise  in 
pointing  out  the  dangers  of  the  Republic,  and  earnest  and  sol- 
emn even  beyond  his  wont,  in  exhortation  to  avoid  them. 

In  February,  18.51,  Mr.  Choate  delivered,  in  Charlestown, 
an  address  on  Washington.  He  repeated  it  in  Boston.  It 
was  marked  by  his  usual  fervor,  and  afforded  him  another  op- 
portunity of  dwelling  upon  that  public  virtue  which  he  feared 
was  losing  its  high  place  and  honor.  An  extract  of  a  few 
pages  will  show  its  spirit. 

"  In  turning  now,"  he  said,  "  to  some  of  the  uses  to  which 
this  great  example  may  contribute,  I  should  place  among  the 
first,  this,  to  which  I  have  this  moment  made  allusion  ;  that  is, 
that  we  may  learn  of  it  how  real,  how  lofty,  how  needful,  and 
how  beautiful  a  virtue  is  patriotism. 

"  It  is  among  the  strangest  of  all  the  strange  things  we 
see  and  hear,  that  there  is,  so  early  in  our  history,  a  class  of 
moralists  among  us,  by  whom  that  duty,  once  held  so  sacred, 
which  takes  so  permanent  a  place  in  the  practical  teachings 
of  the  Bible,  which  Christianity  —  as  the  Christian  world 
has  all  but  universally  understood  its  own  religion  — not  tole- 
rates alone,  but  enjoins  by  all  its  sanctions,  and  over  which  it 
sheds  its  selectest  influences,  while  it  ennobles  and  limits  it; 
which  literature,  art,  history,  the  concurrent  precepts  of  the 
wisest  and  purest  of  the  race  in  all  eras,  have  done  so  much 
to  enforce  and  adorn  and  regulate, —  I  mean,  the  duty  of  lov- 
ing, w^ith  a  specific  and  peculiar  love,  our  own  country  ;  of 
preferring  it  to  all  others,  into  which  the  will  of  God  has 
divided  man  ;  of  guarding  the  integrity  of  its  actual  territory; 
of  advancing  its  power,  eminence,  and  consideration  ;  of 
moulding  it  into  a  vast  and  indestructible  whole,  obeying  a 
common  will,  vivified  by  a  common  life,  identified  by  a  single 
soul ;  strangest  it  is,  I  say,  of  all  that  is  strange,  we  have 
moralists,  sophists,  rather,  of  the  dark  or  purple  robe,  by 
whom  this  master-duty  of  social  man,  is  virtually  and  prac- 
tically questioned,  yea,  disparaged.  They  deal  with  it  as  if  it 
were  an  old-fashioned  and  half-barbarous  and  vulgar  and  con- 


164<  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS    CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIII. 

tracted  animalism,  rather  than  a  virtue.  This  love  of  country 
of  yours,  they  say,  what  is  it,  at  last,  but  an  immoral  and  un- 
philosophical  limitation  and  counteraction  of  the  godlike  prin- 
ciple of  universal  Benevolence  ^  These  symbols  and  festal 
days  ;  these  processions,  and  martial  airs,  and  discourses  of 
the  departed  great ;  this  endeared  name  of  America,  this 
charmed  flag,  this  memorial  column,  these  old  graves,  these 
organic  forms,  this  boasted  Constitution,  this  united  national 
existence,  this  ample  and  glorious  history  of  national  progress, 
these  dreams  of  national  fortune, — alas!  what  are  they  but 
shams,  baubles,  playthings  for  the  childhood  of  the  race ; 
nursery  ballads,  like  the  Old  Testament ;  devices  of  vanity, 
devices  of  crime,  smelling  villanously  of  saltpetre ;  empty 
plausibilities ;  temporary  and  artificial  expedients,  say  hin- 
drances, rather,  by  which  the  great  and  good,  of  all  hemi- 
spheres and  all  races,  are  kept  from  running  into  one  another's 
embraces  ;  and  man,  the  abstract,  ideal,  and  subjective  concep- 
tion of  humanity,  after  having  been  progressively  developed, 
all  the  way  up,  from  the  brain  of  a  fish,  is,  in  this  nineteenth 
century,  sacrificed  and  smothered  by  his  accidents  !  Do  not 
stoop  so  low  as  to  be  a  Patriot.  Aspire  to  be  a  Philanthro- 
pist !  To  reform  your  country,  not  to  preserve  your  country, 
is  the  highest  style  of  man,  nowadays.  Root  and  branch  work 
of  it,  is  the  word.  If  she  goes  to  pieces  in  the  operation,  why, 
her  time  had  come,  and  there  is  an  end  of  an  old  song.  It 
will  be  only  the  ancient  myth  of  the  fall  of  man  and  expulsion 
from  Paradise, — nothing  but  a  stage  of  progress,- — just  a 
bursting  into  a  new  life,  rather  different  from  the  old,  and 
more  of  it,  —  that  is  all ! ! 

"  It  would  be  easy  to  expose  the  emptiness,  presumptuous- 
ness,  and  dangers  of  such  morality ;  but  I  direct  you,  for  a 
better  refutation,  always  to  the  life  and  death  of  Washington. 
Was  not  that  patriotism,  —  virtue  I  Was  it  not  virtue,  en- 
titling itself  —  in  the  language  of  the  Christian  Milton  — 
entitling  itself,  after  this  mortal  change,  '  to  a  crown  among  the 
enthroned  gods  on  sainted  seats']  Was  that  patriotism  selfish 
or  vain  or  bloody  or  contracted]  Was  it  the  less  sublime 
because  it  was  practical  and  because  it  was  American  1  This 
making  of  a  new  nation  in  a  new  world,  this  devising  of  in- 
strumentalities,  this  inspiration  of  a  spirit,  whereby  millions 


1850-1855.]  ADDRESS   ON  WASHINGTON.  IQg 

of  men,  through  many  generations  and  ages,  will  come  one 
after  another  to  the  great  gift  of  social  being,  —  shall  be  born 
and  live  and  die  in  a  vast  brotherhood  of  peace,  —  mental 
and  moral  advancement,  and  reciprocation  of  succor  and  con- 
solation, in  life  and  death,  —  what  attribute  of  grandeur,  what 
element  of  supreme  and  transcendent  beneficence  and  benevo- 
lence does  it  lack  ]  Is  it  not  obedience  to  the  will  of  God  ? 
Does  not  He  decree  the  existence  of  separate  and  independent 
nations  on  the  earth?  Does  not  the  structure  of  the  globe, 
its  seas,  mountains,  deserts,  varieties  of  heat,  cold,  and  pro- 
ductions ;  does  not  the  social  nature  of  man,  the  grand  edu- 
cational necessities  and  intimations  of  his  being  ;  does  not  the 
nature  of  liberty ;  does  not  his  universal  history,  from  the  birth 
of  the  world  ;  do  not  all  things  reveal  it,  as  a  fundamental  and 
original  law  of  the  race,  —  this  distribution  into  several 
National  Life  ?  Is  it  not  as  profoundly  true  to-day  as  ever  1 
''NiJiil  est  enim  illi  'principi  deo,  qui  omnem  hunc  mundum  re- 
git., quod  quidem  in  terris  fiat^  acceptius  quam  concilia^  coetus- 
que  homiimm  jure  sociati,  quce  civitates  appellantur.' ^ 

"  Is  not  the  national  family  as  clear  an  appointment  of  nature 
and  nature's  God  as  the  family  of  the  hearth  X  Is  it  not  a 
divine  ordinance,  even  as  love  of  parents  and  love  of  children  % 
Nay,  is  it  not,  after  all,  the  only  practical  agency  through 
which  the  most  expansive  love  of  Man  can  be  made  to  tell  on 
Man  ?  And  if  so,  if  the  end  is  commanded,  that  is,  if  the 
existence  of  the  independent  and  entire  state  is  commanded, 
are  not  the  means  of  ensuing  that  end  commanded  also  I  And 
if  so,  are  not  the  traits,  the  deeds,  the  care,  the  valor,  the  spirit 
of  nationality,  the  obedience  to  the  collective  will  and  reason 
as  expressed  through  the  prescribed  organic  form ;  are  not  all 
these  sentiments,  and  all  that  policy,  '  the  great  scenery,  the 
heroic  feelings,  the  blaze  of  ancient  virtue,  the  exalted  deaths,' 
which  are  directed  specifically  and  primarily  to  the  creation 
and  preservation  of  the  State,  —  are  they  not  highest  in  the 
scale  of  things  commanded?  Must  not  'being,'  in  the  antithesis 
of  Hooker,  go  before  even  'well  being'?  Away  then  with  this 
spurious  and  morbid  morality  of  the  purple  robe,  which  erects 
the  uses  of  some  particular,  moral,  or  social,  or  economical 
reform,  that  if  not  effected  to-day,  may  be  to-morrow,  above 
1  Cic.  De  Rep.  vi.  13. 


166  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIH. 

the  keeping"  of  the  Republic,  which,  once  descended  into  the 
tomb  of  nations,  shall  rise  not,  till  the  heavens  be  no  more ; 
which  dislocates  impiously  the  fair  and  divinely  appointed  order 
of  the  duties,  which  thinks  it  savors  of  lettered  illumination, 
to  look  down  on  that  glorious  family  of  virtues  which  holds 
kingdoms  and  commonwealths  in  their  spheres.  Give  me 
back  rather,  give  back  to  America  rather,  —  she  needs  it  yet, 
for  a  century,  till  her  national  being,  so  recent,  so  immature, 
is  compacted  to  the  consistency  of  pyramids, —  give  her  back 
rather  the  faith  and  the  philosophy  of  that  day  which  prayed 
in  every  pulpit,  for  the  arms  of  Washington ;  which  in  the 
gorgeous  orientalism  of  Robert  Hall,  say  rather  of  the  Scrip- 
ture itself,  believed  that,  guided  and  inspired  by  the  Miglity 
Hand,  his  hosts,  in  the  day  of  battle,  might  have  their  eyes 
opened,  to  behold  in  every  plain,  and  every  valley,  what  the 
prophet  beheld  by  the  same  illumination,  —  chariots  of  fire,  and 
horses  of  fire ;  which  saw  in  his  escape  from  the  wasting  rifle- 
shot of  the  Monongahela,  a  prediction,  and  a  decree  of  some 
transcendant  public  service,  for  which  he  was  saved. 


"  To  form  and  uphold  a  State,  it  is  not  enough  that  our  judg- 
ments believe  it  to  be  useful ;  the  better  part  of  our  affections 
must  feel  it  to  be  lovely.  It  is  not  enough  that  our  arithmetic 
can  compute  its  value,  and  find  it  high ;  our  hearts  must 
hold  it  priceless,  above  all  things  rich  or  rare,  dearer  than 
health  or  beauty,  brighter  than  all  the  order  of  the  stars.  It 
does  not  suffice  that  its  inhabitants  should  seem  to  you  good 
men  enough  to  trade  with,  altogether  even  as  the  rest  of  man- 
kind ;  ties  of  brotherhood,  memories  of  a  common  ancestry, 
common  traditions  of  fame  and  justice,  a  common  and  un- 
divided inheritance  of  rights,  liberties,  and  renown,  —  these 
things  must  knit  you  to  them  with  a  distinctive  and  domestic 
attraction.  It  is  not  enough  that  a  man  thinks  he  can  be  an 
unexceptionable  citizen,  iu  the  main,  and  unless  a  very  unsatis- 
factory law  passes.  He  must  admit,  into  his  bosom,  the 
specific  and  mighty  emotion  of  patriotism.  He  must  love 
his  country,  his  whole  country,  as  the  place  of  his  birth  or 
adoption,  and  the  sphere  of  his  largest  duties  ;  as  the  play- 
ground of  his  childhood,  the  land  where  his  fathers  sleep,  the 


1850-1855.]  CASE    OF   FAIRCHILD   v.   ADAMS.  15'-' 

sepulchre  of  the  valiant  and  wise,  of  his  own  blood  and  race 
departed  ;  he  must  love  it  for  the  long-  labors  that  reclaimed 
and  adorned  its  natural  and  its  moral  scenery;  for  the  great 
traits  and  great  virtues  of  which  it  has  been  the  theatre ; 
for  the  institution  and  amelioration  and  progress  that  enrich 
it ;  for  the  part  it  has  played  for  the  succor  of  the  nations.  A 
sympathy  indestructible  must  draw  him  to  it.  It  must  be  of 
power  to  touch  his  imagination.  All  the  passions  which  in- 
spire and  animate  in  the  hour  of  conflict  must  wake  at  her 
awful  voice." 


In  the  earlier  part  of  this  year  Mr.  Choate  defended  his 
pastor,  Rev.  Dr.  Adams,  on  a  charge  of  slander.  The  case 
was  peculiar  and  presented  some  interesting  points  for  the 
clerical  profession  in  general.^ 

"  The  action  of  Fairchild  v.  Adams  was  for  written  and 
verbal  slander.  Mr.  Fairchild,  while  pastor  of  a  church  in 
South  Boston  became  a  member  of  the  Suffolk  South  Asso- 
ciation of  Ministers  ;  Rev.  Dr.  Adams  being  also  a  member. 
Mr.  Fairchild  was  privately  charged  by  one  Rhoda  Davidson 
with  being  the  father  of  her  illegitimate  child,  —  and  she 
demanded  of  him  a  considerable  sum  of  money.  He  paid  her 
a  part  of  what  she  demanded,  and  promised  to  pay  her  further 
sums,  and  wrote  her  a  letter  which  was  strongly  indicative 
of  the  truth  of  the  charge.  The  circumstances  having  become 
known  to  a  few  persons  in  his  society,  he  asked  a  dismission, 
under  a  threat  of  exposure,  and  went  to  Exeter,  N.  H.,  where 
he  was  installed  as  a  pastor.  Having  learned,  soon  after  his 
settlement  there,  that  there  must  be  a.  public  exposure  of  the 
affair,  he  attempted  to  commit  suicide.  Soon  afterwards  an 
ecclesiastical  council  met  at  Exeter,  which  advised  that  he 
should  be  dismissed  from  his  charge,  and  degraded  from  the 
ministry.  He  was  about  this  time  indicted  at  Boston  for 
adultery,  but  kept  out  of  the  State,  and  was  not  taken  upon 
the  warrant  till  after  the  lapse  of  a  considerable  time.  He 
finally  returned  and  took  his  trial,  and  was  acquitted,  as  it  was 

1  For  the  following  account  I  am  in-     one  of  the  referees  before  whom  the 
debted  to  Mr.  Justice  Chapman,  now     case  was  tried, 
of  the  Massachusetts  Supreme  Court, 


168  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIII. 

understood,  because  the  testimony  of  the  witness  Davidson 
was  impeached.  After  this  acquittal  he  returned  to  his  former 
pursuit  in  South  Boston,  and  received  a  call  to  settle  there.  A 
council  was  convened,  which  advised  his  settlement,  taking  the 
ground  that  his  acquittal  in  a  criminal  court  should  be  treated 
by  an  ecclesiastical  council  as  conclusive  evidence  of  his  in- 
nocence. From  this  position  Dr.  Adams  and  other  members 
of  the  association  always  dissented,  and  refused  to  recognize 
him  as  a  minister. 

"  Before  the  meeting  of  the  council  at  Exeter,  some  discus- 
sion had  taken  place  in  respect  to  the  standing  of  Mr.  Fair- 
child  in  the  Suffolk  South  Association  ;  and  it  had  been  ar- 
ranged that  the  association  should  be  governed  by  the  result 
of  that  council.  Accordingly  after  he  had  been  degraded  from 
the  ministry,  the  association  passed  a  vote,  reciting  that  result, 
and  expelling  him  from  their  body.  After  he  had  been  again 
installed  in  South  Boston,  he  requested  of  the  association  a 
copy  of  the  vote  by  which  they  had  expelled  him.  The  copy 
was  accordingly  furnished  him,  after  which  he  sent  them  a 
communication  demanding  that  they  should  rescind  the  vote 
as  a  libel,  and  restore  him  to  good  standing  as  a  member ;  and 
he  proposed  to  appear  before  them,  and  offer  evidence  and 
arguments  on  the  question  of  rescinding  the  vote,  and  proposed 
to  some  of  the  members  to  make  inquiries  of  certain  persons 
in  respect  to  some  of  the  accusations  that  had  been  made 
against  him.  The  association  gave  him  a  hearing,  and  after 
its  close,  each  of  the  members  was  called  upon  to  give  an 
opinion,  with  the  reasons  for  it.  Among  others  Dr.  Adams 
gave  his  vote  in  favor  of  a  resolution  adverse  to  the  restora- 
tion of  Mr.  Fairchild,  and  stated  verbally  his  reasons  for  it. 
He  was  selected  as  the  object  of  a  suit,  because  he  was  a  man 
of  influence,  and  because  of  some  personal  feelings ;  and  the 
written  slander  consisted  of  the  resolution  that  was  passed,  and 
the  verbal  slander  of  the  reasons  stated  by  Dr.  Adams  for  be- 
lieving in  the  guilt  of  Mr.  Fairchild. 

"  The  cause  was  heard  before  referees  agreed  on  by  the 
parties,  and  several  very  interesting  questions  arose  on  the 
hearing.  Among  them  was  the  question  to  what  extent  should 
ministers  and  churches  be  influenced  by  the  acquittal  of  a  man 
charged  with  a  crime  in  a  civil  court.    Mr.  Choate  contended 


1850-1855.]  CASE    OF   FAIRCHILD   v.   ADAMS.  169 

that  inasmuch  as  tlie  rules  of  evidence  are  different  in  civil 
and  ecclesiastical  tribunals  ;  inasmuch  as  some  things  are  re- 
garded as  criminal  in  one  that  may  not  be  in  the  other  ;  inas- 
much as  a  defendant  may  be  acquitted  by  the  jury  from  mere 
doubt,  or  from  collusion  of  the  party  with  a  witness  who  suf- 
fers his  testimony  to  be  broken  down,  or  omits  to  disclose  the 
whole  truth,  the  verdict  ought  not  ijjso  facto  to  restore  the 
party,  but  should  only  furnish  a  ground  of  consideration  for 
action.  The  debate  on  this  point  also  led  him  to  an  investiga- 
tion of  the  constitution,  history,  and  usages  of  Congregational 
churches  and  associations  of  ministers. 

"  Another  question  was,  whether  associations  of  ministers 
had  power  to  expel  their  members  for  alleged  offences,  without 
being  held  in  an  action  of  slander  to  prove  to  a  jury  that  the 
party  is  guilty.  On  the  part  of  Mr.  Fairchild,  it  was  con- 
tended that  these  bodies  had  no  privileges  in  this  respect  beyond 
that  of  the  ordinary  slanderer,  who  utters  a  charge  of  crime 
aeainst  his  neighbor  where  the  matter  does  not  concern  him. 
On  the  part  of  Dr.  Adams  it  was  contended  that  the  case  came 
wdthin  the  class  called  privileged  communications ;  —  that  is, 
when  in  the  transaction  of  business  or  the  discharge  of  a  duty, 
one  person  has  proper  occasion  to  speak  of  another,  and  in  good 
faith  and  without  malice  alleges  that  he  has  been  guilty  of  a 
crime.  In  such  cases  he  may  defend  himself  in  an  action  for 
slander  by  proving  that  he  thus  acted,  and  without  proving  to 
the  jury  that  the  accusation  is  true.  The  discussion  of  this 
question  led  to  an  investigation  of  the  authorities  to  be  found  in 
the  books  of  law  in  reference  to  the  general  doctrine,  and  also 
to  the  nature  and  history  of  associations  of  ministers,  and  their 
relation  to  the  churches.  My  minutes  of  the  points  and 
authorities  are  pretty  full  ;  but  they  would  give  no  idea  of  the 
style  and  manner  of  Mr.  Choate's  argument. 

"  The  referees  were  of  opinion  that  associations  are  privileged 
to  inquire  into  the  conduct  of  their  members,  and  in  good 
faith  to  pass  votes  of  expulsion,  stating  the  reasons  of  their 
proceeding,  and  are  not  responsible  to  legal  tribunals  for  the 
accuracy  of  their  conclusions.  They  were  satisfied  that  Dr. 
Adams  acted  in  good  faith,  and  made  an  award  in  his  favor, 
which  after  argument,  was  sustained  by  the  Court.  The  case 
is  reported  in  11  Cushing,  549." 

VOL.   I.  15 


1^0  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIIL 

In  May,  1851,  Mr.  Choate  argued  a  cause,  which,  whether 
estimated  by  the  interests  at  stake,  or  the  signal  ability- of  the 
counsel,  or  the  subtleness  of  the  questions  at  issue,  would 
undoubtedly  be  considered  one  of  the  most  important  in  which 
he  was  ever  engaged.  It  was  that  generally  known  as  the 
"  Methodist  Church  Case."  It  was  heard  in  New  York, 
before  the  Circuit  Court  of  the  United  States,  Justices  Nel- 
son and  Betts  presiding.  At  the  time,  it  was,  from  obvious 
reasons,  of  the  deepest  interest  to  the  whole  Methodist  world 
of  the  United  States,  and  although  it  concerned  property 
alone,  yet  the  members  and  presses  of  the  Church  at  the 
North  always  maintained  most  urgently,  and  apparently  most 
truthfully,  that  the  pecuniary  gain  or  loss  was  quite  inconse- 
quential ;  that  the  real  question  was  whether  the  General 
Conference  of  Churches  could  lawfully  act  so  as  to  destroy 
the  entirety  of  the  Church ;  that  if  it  could  divide  the  Church 
in  this  instance,  there  was  no  limit  to  the  future  sub-divisions 
that  might  be  made.  It  is,  also,  proper  to  state  that  the 
Church  at  the  North  was  anxious  to  harmonize  the  existing 
dispute,  and,  it  is  understood,  made,  as  they  thought,  a  very 
liberal  offer  of  compromise,  which  was  rejected  by  the  South- 
ern Church. 

This  dispute  originated  in  that  prolific  source  of  ill  —  slave- 
ry. Various  questions,  growing  out  of  the  connection  of  the 
Southern  Churchmen  with  slavery,  had,  at  various  times, 
arisen  in  the  Church,  leading  to  a  growing  alienation  of  the 
two  sections.  Finally,  at  a  General  Conference  of  the  then 
united  Church,  held  at  New  York  in  June,  IS-ln^,  a  "plan  of 
separation"  was  drawn  up,  looking  to  a  final  division  of  the 
Church,  which,  among  other  matters,  provided  that  each  sec- 
tion of  the  country  should  have  its  own  Church,  independent 
of  the  other ;  that  ministers  of  every  grade  might  attach 
themselves  without  blame  to  either  Church,  as  they  preferred; 
that  a  change  of  the  first  clause  of  the  sixth  restrictive  article 
should  be  recommended,  so  as  to  read :  "  They  shall  not 
appropriate  the  produce  of  the  Book  Concern  other  than  for 
the  benefit  of  travelling,  supernumerary,  superannuated  and 
worn-out  preachers,  their  wives,  widows,  and  children,  and 
such  other  purposes  as  a  General  Conference  may  deter- 
mine ; "  that  on  the  adoption  of  this  recommendation  by  the 


1850-1855.]  METHODIST   CHURCH   CASE.  1^1 

Annual  Conferences,  the  Northern  Agents  should  deliver  to 
the  Southern  Agents  so  much  of  certain  property  belonging 
to  the  Church  as  the  number  of  travelling  preachers  in  the 
Southern,  bore  to  the  number  of  the  same  class  in  the  North- 
ern Church ;  that  all  the  property  of  the  Church  within  the 
limits  of  the  Southern  organization  should  be  forever  free 
from  any  claim  of  the  Church,  and  that  the  Churches,  North 
and  South,  should  have  a  right  in  common  to  use  all  copy- 
rights of  the  New  York  and  Cincinnati  "Book  Concerns"  at 
the  time  of  settlement. 

Included  in  this  was  the  large  property  called  the  "  Book 
Concern,"  the  proceeds  of  which  were  to  be  appropriated  as 
the  change  in  the  first  clause  of  the  sixth  article  above  stated 
shows,  and  which  was  originally  instituted  by  that  class  which 
is  now  its  beneficiaries.  This  "  Book  Concern  "  was  vested 
in  agents,  and  against  them  this  action  was  brought  by  the 
Southern  agents  to  compel  a  delivery  of  their  share  of  the 
property. 

The  plaintiffs  maintained  that  the  resolutions  of  the  General 
Conference  were  of  binding  force,  and  that  the  General  Con- 
ference of  the  Southern  Church  had  acted  upon  them  in  good 
faith,  and  passed  resolutions  declaring  the  expediency  of  sep- 
aration ;  and  that,  after  this  action  of  the  Southern  Confer- 
ence, a  council  of  Northern  Bishops  met  at  New  York,  and 
passed  resolutions  ratifying  the  "  plan  "  of  the  General  Con- 
ference of  IS^-l*,  regarding  it  as  of  binding  obligation. 

In  reply  to  this,  the  defendants,  admitting  many  of  the 
plaintiffs'  allegations,  rested  their  defence  mainly  on  the  fol- 
lowing propositions :  — 

1.  That  the  resolutions  of  the  General  Conference  of  1844<, 
when  properly  understood,  do  not  impart  an  unqualified  assent 
of  that  body  to  a  division  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church 
into  two  separate  and  distinct  organizations  or  churches ;  that 
the  assent  thereby  given  was  conditional  and  contingent,  and 
that  the  conditions  were  not  complied  with,  nor  has  the  con- 
tingency happened. 

2.  That,  if  otherwise,  the  General  Conference  was  not 
possessed  of  competent  power  and  authority  to  assent  to  or 
authorize  the  division.     And 

3.  That  the  division,  therefore,  that  took  place  was  a  nul- 


lyg  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIII. 

lity,  and  the  separate  organization  a  wrongful  withdrawal  and 
disconnection  from  the  membership,  communion  and  govern- 
ment of  the  Church,  by  reason  of  which  the  travelling,  supers 
numerary,  and  worn-out  preachers,  composing  the  separate 
organization,  are  taken  out  of  the  description  of  the  benefi- 
ciaries of  the  fund. 

The  decision  of  Justice  Nelson  was  adverse  to  the  North- 
ern party ;  and  this  view  was  subsequently  maintained  by  the 
Supreme  Court  in  Washington. 

In  July  of  this  year  (1851J,  Mr.  Choate  again  addressed 
the  Law  School  at  Cambridge,  or  rather  "The  Story  Associa- 
tion," coQiposed  of  the  past  and  present  members  of  the  School. 
And  here,  moved  by  the  dangerous  heresies  which  seemed  to 
him  too  familiarly  received  in  the  community,  the  orator  urged 
upon  the  profession  the  new  duty,  as  he  called  it,  of  checking 
the  spirit  of  disloyalty,  by  correcting  the  public  judgment,  — by 
enlightening  and  directing  the  public  sense  of  right.  "  This 
then,"  he  said,  "  is  the  new  duty,  the  ojms  aurewn^  to  cherish 
the  Religion  of  the  Law  —  to  win  back  the  virtues  to  the  ser- 
vice of  the  State,  and  with  Cicero  and  Grotius,  to  make  loyalty 
to  Law  the  fundamental  principle  in  each  good  man's  breast. 
The  capital  defect  of  the  day  is,  not  that  conscience  is  too  much 
worshipped,  but  that  it  is  not  properly  limited.  Its  true  sphere 
is  not  properly  seen  and  circumscribed.  Men  think  that  by 
the  mere  feeling  within  them  of  a  sense  of  right,  they  can 
test  great  subjects  to  which  the  philosophy  of  ages  leads  the 
way,  and  can  try  a  grand  complex  polity,  embracing  a  multi- 
tude of  interests  and  conflicting  claims  and  duties.  But  these 
ethical  politics  do  not  train  the  citizen  ab  extra  to  be  enlight- 
ened on  these  subjects. 

"  Morality  should  go  to  school.  It  should  consult  the  build- 
ers of  Empire,  and  learn  the  arts  imperial  by  which  it  is  pre- 
served, ere  it  ventures  to  pronounce  on  the  construction  and 
laws  of  nations  and  commonwealths.  For,  unless  the  genera- 
tion of  Washington  was  in  a  conspiracy  against  their  posterity, 
and  the  generation  of  this  day,  in  high  and  judicial  station,  is 
in  the  same  plot,  the  large  toleration  which  inspires  the  Con- 
stitution and  the  Laws,  was  not  only  wise,  but  was  indispensa- 
ble to  forming  or  keeping  any  union,  and  to  the  prosperity  of 
us  all. 


1850-1855.]  ADDRESS    AT    CAMBRIDGE.  I'^g 

"Let  the  babblers  against  the  laws  contemplate  Socrates  in  his 
cell  about  to  quaft"  the  poison  which  Athens  presented  to  him. 
He  is  pleading  with  his  disciples  for  the  sanctity  of  the  very 
law  which  condemns  him  :  he  refuses  to  escape  ;  and,  '  after 
a  brief  discourse  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul,'  he  dies.  Let 
them  learn,  that  ere  laws  and  constitutions  can  be  talked  about, 
they  must  at  least  be  the  subject  of  a  special  study.  Their 
transcendental  philosophy  must  condescend  to  study,  not  only 
the  character,  but  even  the  temper^  of  a  people,  and  this  not 
a  priori^  but  as  it  appears  in  the  local  press  and  public  demon- 
strations. Then  they  would  observe  that  there  are  three  great 
things  adverse  to  the  permanence  of  our  National  Government, 
—  its  recency^  its  artificial  structure^  and  the  peculiar  facili- 
ties ivhich  the  State  organizations  afford  for  separation  ;  and 
from  this  study  they  would  learn  how  little  they  know  what  a 
work  it  was  to  found  and  keep  the  Republic  and  its  laws. 
'  Tantce  molis  erat  Romanam  condere  gentem.' 

"  To  exercise  this  conservative  influence,  to  beget  a  distrust 
of  individual  and  unenlightened  judgment,  on  matters  of  such 
vast  import  and  extent,  and  to  foster  a  religious  reverence  for 
the  laws,  is  the  new  duty  which  the  times  demand  of  the  legal 
profession." 

During  the  years  1851  and  1852,  notwithstanding  the 
increasing  demands  of  his  profession,  Mr.  Choate  continued 
deeply  interested  in  national  politics.  There  were  many  at 
the  North  dissatisfied  with  the  compromise  measures  of  1850, 
and  alienated  from  Mr.  Webster,  on  account  of  his  speech  on 
the  7th  of  March.  There  were  others  who  believed  those 
measures  to  be  in  general  wise  and  conciliatory,  and  that  Mr. 
Webster  never  assumed  a  position  more  dignified  and  patriotic, 
or  showed  a  more  profound  sense  of  the  demands  of  the  whole 
country.  The  Massachusetts  Whigs  of  this  class  determined 
to  call  a  public  meeting,  in  order  to  present  to  the  country  the 
name  of  that  great  statesman  as  a  candidate  for  the  Presi- 
dency. The  convention  was  held  on  the  £5th  of  November, 
1851,  and  proved  to  be  one  of  the  largest,  most  respectable, 
and  most  enthusiastic  gatherings  of  the  year.  It  was  presided 
over  by  Hon.  George  Ashmun ;  and  the  principal  address  was 
made  by  Mr.  Choate.  Of  all  the  tributes  to  Mr.  Webster, 
never  was  one  more  hearty,  more  sincere,  or  more  stirring  than 

15* 


■[J4f  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIII. 

that  which  he  then  dehvered.  His  whole  soul  was  alive  with 
his  theme.  A  sense  of  the  injustice  which  that  great  statesman 
had  suffered  ;  of  the  angry  and  slanderous  attacks  made  upon 
him  by  the  little  and  malignant ;  of  the  insult  which  one  of  the 
boards  of  the  city  government  had  contrived  to  inflict  by  re- 
fusing to  him  —  the  first  citizen  of  the  State  —  permission  to 
speak  in  Faneuil  Hall ;  the  ingratitude  with  which  many  at 
the  North  had  requited  his  long  and  arduous  and  grand  ser- 
vices, —  all  inspired  the  orator  to  a  strain  of  fervid  declama- 
tion which  swept  the  vast  assembly  with  him  as  if  but  one 
spirit  moved  them  all. 

The  early  part  of  the  year  1S52  was  marked  by  nothing  of 
peculiar  interest.  In  March  he  made  a  powerful  argument  in 
an  India-Rubber  case,  in  Trenton,  N.  J.  Mr.  Webster  was 
on  the  opposite  side  —  one  of  his  latest  appearances  in  a  case 
of  great  importance.  Mr.  Choate  was  said  to  have  surpassed 
himself  in  learning,  strength,  and  brilliancy;  but  of  the  argu- 
ment, as  of  the  great  majority  of  speeches  at  the  bar,  abso- 
lutely nothing  remains  —  tpsce  periere  ruince. 

The  Whig  Convention  for  the  nomination  of  a  candidate  for 
the  Presidency,  —  the  last  National  Convention  of  the  party,  — 
met  in  Baltimore  on  Wednesday  the  I6th  of  June,  185^. 
The  secret  history  of  it  is  yet  to  be  written. 

The  place  of  meeting  was  a  spacious  hall.  The  members 
occupied  a  raised  platform  in  the  centre  ;  spectators,  from  all 
parts  of  the  country,  sat  upon  benches  at  the  sides,  while  the 
gallery  was  filled  with  ladies.  Two  days  were  spent  in  effect- 
ing an  organization,  and  preparing  a  series  of  resolutions.  It 
was  considered  doubtful  whether  a  platform  could  be  agreed 
upon,  binding  the  party  to  the  "  compromise  measures,"  as  they 
were  called.  As  these  measures  were  not  entirely  acquiesced 
in  by  many  of  the  Northern  members,  it  was  supposed  to  be 
the  policy  of  some  to  make  the  nomination  without  a  declara- 
tion of  political  sentiments  on  the  question  of  slavery,  and  then 
to  resolve  that  no  such  declaration  was  necessary.  If  this 
wei'e  the  plan,  it  did  not  succeed.  It  was  understood  that 
General  Scott  had  written  to  some  member  of  the  Conven- 
tion assenting  to  these  '  measures,'  though  for  some  reason 
the  letter  had  not  been  produced.  Tbe  resolutions  were  at 
length  read,  and  all  eyes  turned  toward  the  seats  occupied  by 


1850-1855.]      BALTIMORE    CONVENTION,  JUNE,  1852.  l^y^ 

the  Massachusetts  delegates.  Mr.  Choate  presently  rose  ;  it 
was  ahout  half  past  five  o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of  Friday. 
The  thousand  fans  ceased  to  flutter,  and  the  hall  was  silent 
with  expectation.  He  began  in  a  quiet  manner,  as  he  usually 
did,  with  an  allusion  to  the  general  sentiment  of  the  plat- 
form itself,  and  then  broke  into  a  more  fervent  strain  of 
thanksgiving  to  God,  that  a  sentiment  urged  before,  many 
times  and  in  many  places,  seemed  now  likely,  by  so  near  an 
approach  to  unanimity,  to  be  adopted  and  promulgated  by 
that  authority,  among  the  highest  which  he  recognized,  the 
National  Whig  Party  of  the  United  States,  in  General  Con- 
vention assembled. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  why  should  not  this  organ  of  one  of  the 
great  national  parties,  which,  pervading  the  country,  while 
they  divide  the  people,  confirm  the  Union,  —  for  I  hold  that 
these  party  organizations,  wisely  and  morally  administered, 
are  among  the  most  powerful  instrumentalities  of  union,  — 
here,  now,  and  thus  declare,  that,  in  its  judgment,  the  fur- 
ther agitation  of  the  subject  of  slavery  be  excluded  from, 
and  forbidden  in,  the  national  politics^  Why  should  it  not 
declare  that  if  agitation  must  continue,  it  shall  be  remitted 
to  the  forum  of  philanthropy,  of  literature,  of  the  press,  of 
sectional  organization,  of  fanaticism,  organized  or  unorgan- 
ized ;  but  that  the  Federal  Government  has  in  this  field  closed 
its  labors  and  retires,  leaving  it  to  the  firmness  of  a  perma- 
nent Judiciary  to  execute  what  the  Legislature  has  ordained  ^ 

"  Why  should  we  not  engage  ourselves  to  the  finality  of 
the  entire  series  of  measures  of  compromise  1  Does  any 
member  of  this  body  believe  that  the  interests  of  the  nation, 
the  interests  of  humanity,  our  highest  interests,  our  loftiest 
duties,  require  an  attempt  to  disturb  them  1  Was  it  need- 
ful to  pass  them  ]  Did  not  a  moral  necessity  compel  it  ] 
Who  now  doubts  this  ^  I  do  not  deny  that  some  good 
men  have  done  so,  and  now  do.  I  am  quite  well  aware  that 
fanaticism  has  doubted  it,  or  has  affected  to  doubt  it,  to  the 
end  that  it  may  leave  itself  free,  unchecked  by  its  own  con- 
science, to  asperse  the  motives  of  the  authors  and  advocates 
of  this  scheme  of  peace  and  reconciliation,  —  to  call  in  ques- 
tion the  soundness  of  the  ethics  on  which  it  rests,  and  to  agi- 
tate forever   for  its  repeal.     But  the  American  people  know, 


176  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VXII. 

by  every  kind  and  degree  of  evidence  by  which  such  a  truth 
ever  can  be  known,  that  these  measures,  in  the  crisis  of  their 
time,  saved  this  nation.  I  thank  God  for  the  civil  courage, 
which,  at  the  hazard  of  all  things  dearest  in  life,  dared  to  pass 
and  defend  them,  and  '  has  taken  no  step  backward.'  I  rejoice 
that  the  healthy  morality  of  the  country,  with  an  instructed 
conscience,  void  of  offence  toward  God  and  man,  has  accepted 
them.  Extremists  denounce  all  compromises,  ever.  Alas  !  do 
they  remember  that  such  is  the  condition  of  huQianity  that  the 
noblest  politics  are  but  a  compromise — an  approximation — a 
type  —  a  shadow  of  good  things  —  the  buying  of  great  bless- 
ings at  great  prices  "?  Do  they  forget  that  the  Union  is  a 
compromise  ;  the  Constitution  —  social  life,  —  that  the  har- 
mony of  the  universe  is  but  the  music  of  compromise,  by 
which  the  antagonisms  of  the  infinite  Nature  are  composed 
and  reconciled  ^  Let  him  who  doubts  —  if  such  there  be  — 
whether  it  were  wise  to  pass  these  measures,  look  back  and 
recall  with  what  instantaneous  and  mighty  charm  they  calmed 
the  madness  and  anxiety  of  the  hour !  How  every  counte- 
nance, everywhere,  brightened  and  elevated  itself!  How,  in  a 
moment,  the  interrupted  and  parted  currents  of  fraternal  feel- 
ing reunited !  Sir,  the  people  came  together  again,  as  when,  in 
the  old  Roman  history,  the  tribes  descended  from  the  mount  of 
secession,  —  the  great  compromise  of  that  constitution  achieved, 
—  and  flowed  together  behind  the  eagle  into  one  mighty  host 
of  reconciled  races  for  the  conquest  of  the  world. 

"  Well,  if  it  were  necessary  to  adopt  these  measures,  is  it 
not  necessary  to  continue  them  ?  In  their  nature  and  office, 
are  they  not  to  be  as  permanent  as  the  antagonisms  to  which 
they  apply  ?  Would  any  man  here  repeal  them  if  he  could 
command  the  numerical  power  ?  Does  he  see  anything  but 
unmixed  and  boundless  evil  in  the  attempt  to  repeal  them  1 
Why  not,  then,  declare  the  doctrine  of  their  permanence "? 
In  the  language  of  Daniel  Webster,  '  Why  delay  the  declara- 
tion ?  Sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  am 
for  it.' 

"Sir,  let  me  suggest  a  reason  or  two  for  this  formality  of  an- 
nouncement of  such  a  declaration  in  such  a  platform.  In  the 
first  place,  our  predecessors  of  the  Democratic  Convention,  in 
this  hall,  have  made  it  indispensable.     If  we  do  not  make  it  as 


1850-1855.]     BALTIMORE    CONVENTION,   JUNE,    1852.  l^y 

comprehensive  and  as  unequivocally  as  they  have,  we  shall  be 
absorbed,  scattered!  —  absorbed  by  the  whirlpool,  —  scattered 
by  the  \v'hirl\vind  of  the  sentiment  of  nationality  which  they 
have  had  the  sagacity  to  discern  and  hide  under.  Look  at 
their  platform,  and  see  what  a  multitude  of  siris  of  omission 
and  commission,  bad  policy  and  no  policy,  the  mantle  of  na- 
tional feeling  is  made  not  ungracefully  to  cover.  And  re- 
member that  you  may  provide  a  banquet  as  ample  as  you  will; 
you  may  load  the  board  with  whatever  of  delicacy  or  necessity; 
you  may  declare  yourselves  the  promoters  of  commerce,  where- 
soever, on  salt  water  or  fresh  water,  she  demands  your  care ; 
the  promoters  of  internal  improvements,  —  of  the  protection 
of  labor,  promising-  to  the  farmer  of  America  the  market  of 
America,  —  of  peace  with  all  nations,  entangling-  alliances  with 
none,  —  of  progress,  not  by  external  aggression,  but  by  internal 
development ;  spread  your  board  as  temptingly  as  you  will,  if 
the  national  appetite  does  not  find  there  the  bread  and  ^vater  of 
national  life,  the  aliment  of  nationality,  it  will  turn  from  your 
provisions  in  disgust. 

"  Again  :  some  persons  object  to  all  such  attempts  to  give 
sacredness  and  permanence  to  any  policy  of  government,  or 
any  settlement  of  anything  by  the  people.  They  object  to 
them  as  useless,  as  unphilosophical,  as  mischievous.  The 
compromise  measures  are  nothing,  they  say,  but  a  law  ;  and, 
although  we  think  them  a  very  good  law,  yet  better  turn 
them  over  to  the  next  elections,  the  next  Presidential  canvass, 
the  next  session  of  Congress,  to  take  their  chance.  If  they 
are  of  God,  of  nature,  of  humanity,  they  will  stand  anyhow; 
and  if  not,  they  ought  not  to  stand. 

"  I  am  not  quite  of  this  opinion.  I  know,  indeed,  how  vain 
it  is  to  seek  to  bind  a  future  generation,  or  even  a  future  day. 
I  see  the  great  stream  of  progress  passing  by,  on  which  all 
things  of  earth  are  moving.  I  listen,  awe-struck,  to  the  voice 
of  its  rushing.  Let  all  who  have  eyes  to  see  and  ears  to  hear, 
see  and  hear  also.  Still  I  believe  something  may  be  done  at 
favorable  junctures  to  shape,  color,  confirm  even,  so  capricious 
and  so  mighty  a  thing  as  public  opinion.  This  is  the  theory 
on  which  written  constitutions  are  constructed.  Why  such 
toil  on  these,  unless  in  the  belief  that  you  may  and  should 
seek  to  embody  and  fix  an  important  agreement  of  the  na- 


lyS  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS  CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIH. 

tional  mind, — may  for  a  little  space  moor  the  ship  against  the 
stream,  and  insure  that  when  she  is  swept  from  that  mooring, 
she  may  not  be  instantly  shattered,  but  float  with  some  safety, 
and  under  some  control,  to  the  ocean  ^ 

"  I  believe,  and  have  many  times  asserted  and  enforced  the 
idea,  that  if  the  two  great  national  parties  would  now,  in  this 
most  solemn,  public,  authoritative  manner,  unite  in  extracting 
and  excluding-  this  business  of  the  agitation  of  slavery  from 
their  political  issues, — if  they  would  adjudge,  decree,  and  pro- 
claim that  this  is  all  a  capital  on  which  a  patriotic  man,  or 
body  of  men,  may  not  trade ;  that  the  subject  is  out  of  the 
domain  of  politics,  disposed  of  by  the  higher  law  of  a  com- 
mon national  consent,  founded  on  a  regard  for  the  common 
good,  —  and  that  if  they  would  go  into  the  coming  and  all 
contests  upon  their  proper  and  strict  political  issues,  each  con- 
tending with  the  other  only  for  the  glory  of  a  greater  partici- 
pation in  the  compromise,  much  would  be  done  to  perpetuate 
the  national  peace  within,  which  we  now  enjoy.  Whatever 
the  result  of  the  canvass,  and  however  severely  it  might  be 
conducted,  it  would  be  one  great  jubilee  of  Union,  in  which 
the  discordant  voice  of  sections  and  fanaticism  would  be 
silenced  or  unheard. 

"  Let  me  trouble  you  with  one  more  reason  for  adopting 
this  compromise.  Sir,  let  us  put  it  out  of  our  power  to  be 
tempted,  in  the  excitement  of  this  election,  to  press  the  claims 
of  our  candidates  in  one  part  of  the  country  on  the  ground 
that  his  success  will  extinguish  agitation,  and  to  press  the 
claims  of  the  same  candidate  in  another  part  of  it  on  the 
ground  that  his  success  will  promote  agitation.  As  gentlemen 
and  men  of  honor  and  honest  men,  let  us  take  the  utmost 
security  against  this.  Who  does  not  hang  down  his  head  in 
advance  with  shame,  at  the  fraud  and  falsehood  exemplified 
in  going  into  one  locality  and  crying  out  of  the  Northern  side 
of  our  mouths, '  No  platform  !  —  agitation  forever  !  —  ours  is 
the  candidate  of  progress  and  freedom  !  '  And  then  going 
into  another  and  shouting  through  the  Southern  side,  '  All 
right !  —  we  are  the  party  of  compromise  !  —  we  have  got  no 
platform,  to  be  sure,  but  Mr.  So-and-so  has  got  a  first-rate 
letter  in  his  breeches-pocket,  and  Mr.  So-and-so  is  vehemently 
believed  to  have  one  in  his,  —  either  of  them  as  good  as  half 


1850-1855.]        BALTIMORE    CONVENTION,  JUNE,  1852.  I'Tg 

a  dozen  platforms.'  Pray,  if  you  love  us,  put  us  into  no  such 
position  as  this.  Lead  us  not  into  such  temptation,  and  deliver 
us  from  such  evil.  How  much  better  to  send  up  the  Union 
flag  at  once  to  each  masthead,  blazing  with  '  Liberty  and 
Union,  now  and  forever,  one  and  inseparable,'  and  go  down 
even  so  !  " 

The  effect  of  this  speech  upon  the  audience  who  frequently 
interrupted  him  with  enthusiastic  applause,  was  indescribable. 
After  the  cheering  had  somewhat  subsided,  remarks  were  made 
by  several  members  of  the  Convention,  and  a  running  conver- 
sation for  some  time  kept  up  concerning  the  letter  of  General 
Scott,  till  finally  one  was  produced  and  read.  Mr.  Botts  in 
the  course  of  his  remarks  criticised  Mr.  Choate  for  an  implied 
imputation  upon  General  Scott,  and  an  implied  commendation 
of  Mr.  Webster.  He  closed  by  asking  whether  he  should 
move  the  adoption  of  the  resolutions  and  call  for  the  previous 
question,  saying,  however,  that  he  would  not  do  so,  even  at 
the  request  of  the  entire  Convention,  if  the  gentleman  from 
Massachusetts  felt  aggrieved  at  his  remarks  and  desired  to 
respond.  There  were  loud  cries  for  "  Choate."  "  First," 
says  one  who  was  present,  "  by  his  friends  of  the  Conven- 
tion, then  by  his  partisans  on  the  floor,  and  then  by  the  gay 
galleries.  The  chorus  was  immense,  imperative,  and  deter- 
mined." After  some  hesitancy  he  at  last  rose,  and  in  a  tone 
of  imperial  grace  said,  "  I  shall  endeavor  to  keep  within  the 
rule  laid  down  by  the  chairman.  I  beg  to  assure  gentlemen 
that  nothing  in  the  world  was  further  from  my  intention  than 
to  enter  upon  any  eulogy  of  that  great  man,  my  friend  of  so 
many  years,  whose  name  is  as  imperishably  connected  with  a 
long  series  of  all  the  civil  glories  of  his  country  as  it  is  with 
this  last  and  greatest  of  his  achievements.  I  assure  you,  Sir, 
upon  my  honor,  and  I  assure  the  gentleman  from  Virginia  on 
my  honor  also,  that  I  rose  solely  and  simply  to  express,  in  the 
briefest  possible  terms,  the  convictions  of  myself  and  of  many 
gentlemen  here  on  the  merits  of  the  general  subject  itself, 
without  appreciating  what  possible  influence  the  remarks  I 
might  submit  would  exert  on  the  chances  of  this,  that,  or  the 
other  eminent  person  for  receiving  the  nomination  of  the  Con- 
vention." 

Being  interrupted    here   by  a    question  from    Mr.    Botts, 


180  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  Vin. 

"  Whether  he  understood  the  gentleman  rightly  as  saying  that 
he  did  not  mean  to  depreciate  any  other  candidate,  when  speak- 
ing of  that  one  who  was  his  first  choice,"  he  proceeded,  "  I 
meant  to  present  a  sound  argument  to  the  Convention,  to  the 
end  that  this  Convention  might  stand  committed  as  men  of 
honor  everywhere.  I  say  here  and  everywhere,  give  us  that 
man,  and  you  will  promote  peace  and  suppress  agitation  ;  and 
if  you  give  us  any  other,  you  have  no  assurance  at  all  that  that 
agitation  will  be  suppressed. 

"  I  am  suspected  of  having  risen  to  pay  a  personal  compli- 
ment to  that  great  name  with  which  I  confess  my  heart  is  full 
to  bursting,  because  I  stand  here,  according  to  my  measure,  to 
praise  and  defend  the  great  system  of  policy  which  the  unani- 
mous judgment  of  this  Convention  has  approved,  or  is  about 
to  approve  and  promulgate.  Ah,  Sir,  what  a  reputation  that 
must  be, — what  a  patriotism  that  must  be, — what  a  long  and 
brilHant  series  of  public  services  that  must  be,  when  you  can- 
not mention  a  measure  of  utility  like  this  but  every  eye  spon- 
taneously turns  to,  and  every  voice  spontaneously  utters,  that 
great  name  of  Daniel  Webster. 

"  I  have  done,  Sir.  I  have  no  letter  to  present,  written  last 
week,  or  the  week  before  last.  Mr.  Webster's  position  on  this 
question  dates  where  the  peace  of  the  country  had  its  final  con- 
summation, on  the  7th  of  March,  1850. 

"  But,  Sir,  I  did  not  intend  to  electioneer  in  the  slightest 
degree.  If  my  friend  from  Virginia  will  recall  the  course  of 
my  observations,  he  will  find  that  I  confined  myself  exclusively 
to  the  defence  of  the  measure  itself.  But  so  it  is  that  there  is 
some  such  reputation  that  you  cannot  stand  up  and  ask  for 
glory  and  blessing,  and  honor  and  power,  or  length  of  days 
upon  America,  but  you  seem  to  be  electioneering  for  that  great 
reputation." 

The  scene  that  followed  was  one  of  intense  enthusiasm. 
Bouquets  were  thrown  at  the  feet  of  the  orator,  and  every 
demonstration  made  which  could  indicate  homage  and  delight. 
All  were  amazed  at  the  ingenuity  of  the  speech  as  well  as 
captivated  by  its  eloquence.  The  platform  was  adopted  by  a 
vote  of  J227  to  66. 

There  was  another  speech  made  by  Mr.  Choate  during  the 
sitting  of  the  Convention,  at  a  private  entertainment  given  by 


1850-1855.]  SPEECH   IN   BALTIMORE.  Jgl 

the  Massachusetts  members  to  some  of  those  from  the  South- 
west, which  is  said  to  have  produced  the  greatest  dehght  and 
enthusiasm.  The  gathering  was  arranged  with  the  hope  that 
it  might  lead  the  Southerners  to  cast  their  votes  for  Mr.  Web- 
ster. Mr.  Choate  had  not  been  consulted ;  the  heat  of  the 
weather  was  intense,  and  he  had  gone  to  bed  with  a  sick-head- 
ache. One  of  his  friends  went  to  him  and  asked  him  to  be 
present.  "  It  is  impossible,"  he  replied,  "  I  am  too  ill  to  hold 
up  my  head.  I  have  not  strength  to  say  a  word,"  He  was 
told  that  he  need  say  but  little,  and  that  it  was  for  Mr.  Web- 
ster, —  his  last  chance  of  influencing  the  delegates  in  favor  of 
that  just  and  grand  nomination.  On  this  view  of  the  case  he 
immediately  assented,  rose  and  went  to  the  table.  He  was  too 
unwell  to  take  anything  and  spoke  but  about  fifteen  minutes. 
I  have  never  heard  what  he  said ;  it  may  be  imagined  by  those 
who  knew  his  love  for  Mr.  Webster  and  his  deep  sense  of  the 
injustice  likely  to  be  done  him  ;  but  it  carried  away  that  little 
audience  as  with  a  whirlwind.  They  seemed  half  beside  them- 
selves, —  sprung  from  their  seats,  jumped  upon  the  chairs 
and  benches,  broke  their  glasses,  and  acted  like  wild  men. 
But  the  efforts  of  the  friends  of  Mr.  Webster  were  without 
avail.  The  Southern  members  offered  to  come  with  one  hun- 
dred and  six  votes,  when  forty  votes  should  be  obtained  from 
the  North  ;  but  so  firmly  determined  were  some  of  the  North- 
ern delegates,  that  this  number  could  not  be  found.  The  vote 
for  Mr.  Webster  never  exceeded  thirty-two.  At  the  fifty-third 
ballot  Gen.  Scott  received  the  nomination. 

In  August,  1852,  Mr.  Choate  addressed  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa 
Society,  of  the  University  of  Vermont,  on  the  "  Intervention 
of  the  New  World  in  the  affairs  of  the  Old ;  —  the  Duty,  the 
Limitations,  and  the  Modes."  It  was  high-toned,  conserva- 
tive and  wise.  The  subject  was  suggested  by  recent  events 
in  the  East,  and  especially  by  the  visit  of  Kossuth  to  this 
country.  The  oration  opened  with  the  following  tribute  to 
the  eloquent  Hungarian. 

"  To  his  eye  who  observes  the  present  of  our  own  country, 
and  of  the  age,  heedfully,  —  looking  before  and  after,  every 
day  offers  some  incident  which  first  awakens  a  vivid  emotion, 
and  then  teaches  some  great  duty.     Contemplate,  then,  a  sin- 

VOL.   I.  16 


182  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIH. 

gle  one  of  such  a  class  of  incidents ;  give  room  to  the  emo- 
tions it  stirs  ;  gather  up  the  lessons  of  which  it  is  full. 

"  On  the  fifth  day  of  the  last  December,  there  came  to  this 
land  a  man  of  alien  blood,  of  foreign  and  unfamiliar  habit, 
costume,  and  accent ;  yet  the  most  eloquent  of  speech,  ac- 
cording to  his  mode, — the  most  eloquent  by  his  history  and 
circumstances, — the  most  eloquent  by  his  mission  and  topics, 
whom  the  world  has,  for  many  ages,  seen  ;  and  began,  among 
us  a  brief  sojourn, —  began,  say  rather,  a  brief  and  strange, 
eventful  pilgrimage,  which  is  just  now  concluded.  Imperfect 
in  his  mastery  of  our  tongue, — he  took  his  first  lessons  in  the 
little  room  over  the  barrack-gate  of  Buda,  a  few  months  before, 
—  his  only  practice  in  it  had  been  a  few  speeches  to  quite  un- 
critical audiences  in  Southampton,  in  Birmingham,  Manchester 
and  Guildhall ;  bred  in  a  school  of  taste  and  general  culture 
with  which  our  Anglo-Saxon  training  has  little  affinity  and 
little  sympathy;  the  representative  and  impersonation,  though 
not,  I  believe,  the  native  child,  of  a  race  from  the  East,  planted 
some  centuries  ago  in  Europe,  but  Oriental  still  as  ever,  in  all 
but  its  Christianity ;  the  pleader  of  a  cause  in  which  we  might 
seem  to  be  as  little  concerned  as  in  the  story  of  the  lone  Pelops 
or  that  of  Troy  divine;  coming  before  us  even  such — that  silver 
voice,  that  sad  abstracted  eye,  before  which  one  image  seemed 
alone  to  hover,  one  procession  to  be  passing,  the  fallen  Hun- 
gary—  the  '  unnamed  demigods,'  her  thousands  of  devoted 
sons ;  that  earnest  and  full  soul,  laboring  with  one  emotion ; 
has  held  thousands  and  thousands  of  all  degrees  of  suscep- 
tibility; the  coldness  and  self-control  of  the  East  —  the  more 
spontaneous  sympathies  of  the  West — the  masses  in  numbers 
without  number  —  Women  —  Scholars  —  our  greatest  names 
in  civil  places — by  the  sea-shore — in  banquet  halls — in  halls 
of  legislation — among  the  memories  of  Bunker  Hill  —  every- 
where, he  has  held  all,  with  a  charm  as  absolute  as  that  with 
which  the  Ancient  Mariner  kept  back  the  bridal  guest  after 
the  music  of  the  marriage  feast  had  begun. 

"  The  tribute  of  tears  and  applaudings ;  the  tribute  of  sym- 
pathy and  of  thoughts  too  deep  for  applaudings,  too  deep  for 
tears,  have  attested  his  sway.  For  the  first  time  since  the 
transcendent  genius  of  Demosthenes  strove  with  the  down- 
ward age  of  Greece;  or  since  the  Prophets  of  Israel  announced 


1850-1855.]  ADDRESS  TO  THE  PHI  BETA  KAPPA  SOCIETY.  183 

—  each  tone  of  the  hymn  grander,  sadder  than  before  —  the 
successive  foot-falls  of  the  approaching  Assyrian  beneath 
whose  spear  the  Law  should  cease  and  the  vision  be  seen  no 
more  ;  our  ears,  our  hearts,  have  drunk  the  sweetest,  most 
mournful,  most  awful  of  the  words  which  man  may  ever 
utter,  or  may  ever  hear  —  the  eloquence  of  an  Expiring 
Nation. 

"  For  of  all  this  tide  of  speech,  flowing  without  ebb,  there 
was  one  source  only.  To  one  note  only  was  the  harp  of  this 
enchantment  strung.  It  was  an  appeal  not  to  the  interests,  not 
to  the  reason,  not  to  the  prudence,  not  to  the  justice,  not  to  the 
instructed  conscience  of  America  and  England  ;  but  to  the 
mere  emotion  of  sympathy  for  a  single  family  of  man  op- 
pressed by  another  —  contending  to  be  free  —  cloven  down  on 
the  field,  yet  again  erect ;  her  body  dead,  her  spirit  incapable 
to  die ;  the  victim  of  treachery ;  the  victim  of  power  ;  the 
victim  of  intervention  ;  yet  breathing,  sighing,  lingering,  dy- 
ing, hoping,  through  all  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  an  agony  of 
glory  1  For  this  perishing  nation  —  not  one  inhabitant  of 
which  we  ever  saw  ;  on  whose  territory  we  had  never  set  a 
foot ;  whose  books  we  had  never  read  ;  to  whose  ports  we 
never  traded ;  not  belonging  in  an  exact  sense  to  the  circle  of 
independent  States  ;  a  province  rather  of  an  Empire  which 
alone  is  known  to  international  law  and  to  our  own  diplomacy; 
for  this  nation  he  sought  pity  —  the  intervention,  the  armed 
intervention,  the  material  aid  of  pity  ;  and  if  his  audiences 
could  have  had  their  will,  he  would  have  obtained  it,  without 
mixture  or  measure,  to  his  heart's  content ! 

"  When  shall  we  be  quite  certain  again  that  the  lyre  of  Or- 
pheus did  not  kindle  the  savage  nature  to  a  transient  discourse 
of  reason,  —  did  not  suspend  the  labors  and  charm  the  pains 
of  the  damned, — did  not  lay  the  keeper  of  the  grave  asleep, 
and  win  back  Eurydice  from  the  world  beyond  the  river,  to 
the  warm,  upper  air  \ 

"  And  now  that  this  pilgrimage  of  romance  is  ended,  the 
harp  hushed,  the  minstrel  gone,  let  us  pause  a  moment  and  at- 
tend to  the  lessons  and  gather  up  the  uses  of  the  unaccustomed 
performance." 

Immediately  after  this  college  anniversary  he  made  a  brief 
journey  to  Quebec,  going  along  the  accustomed  line  of  travel 


184  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIIL 

by  Montreal  and  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  retracing  his  way  along 
the  same  line  quite  to  New  York.  This  naturally  led  him  to 
the  places  distinguished  in  the  earlier  wars,  at  most  of  which 
he  stopped,  refreshing  and  verifying  his  knowledge,  kindling 
anew  his  patriotism  at  every  hallowed  spot,  from  the  Falls  of 
Montmorenci,  and  the  Plains  of  Abraham,  to  the  mouth  of 
the  Hudson.  The  weather  was  delightful  and  the  trip  alto- 
gether invigorating  to  both  body  and  mind. 

In  the  Fall  of  this  year,  the  country  suffered  a  loss,  the 
greatness  of  which  time  alone  can  disclose.  Mr.  Choate  felt 
it  not  only  as  an  irreparable  public  calamity,  but  as  a  personal 
bereavement,  for  which  there  was  no  remedy. 

From  the  Baltimore  Convention  the  friends  of  Mr.  Webster 
returned  with  an  uncontrollable  feeling  of  disappointment  and 
with  a  deep  sense  of  wrong.  But  before  the  day  of  election,  he, 
for  whom  they  had  struggled,  had  closed  his  eyes  forever  upon 
this  earth.  Mr.  Webster  died  on  the  24th  of  October.  On  the 
28th,  the  members  of  the  Suffolk  Bar  presented  to  the  United 
States  Circuit  Court,  then  in  session,  a  series  of  resolutions 
expressive  of  their  sense  of  the  loss,  and  Mr.  Choate  with 
other  eminent  lawyers  addressed  the  court.  He  spoke  with 
entire  quietness  of  manner,  and  with  the  deepest  feeling,  and 
his  words  seem  to  contain  the  germs  of  almost  all  the  eu- 
logies afterwards  pronounced  upon  the  great  New  England 
statesman. 

As  soon  as  a  sense  of  propriety  would  allow,  Mr,  Choate 
received  solicitations  from  very  respectable  bodies  in  different 
parts  of  the  country,  to  deliver  a  more  formal  and  extended 
eulogy.  He  accepted  that  which  came  first,  from  the  Faculty 
and  Students  of  Dartmouth  College,  influenced  still  more, 
perhaps,  by  his  deep  and  truly  filial  affection  for  the  place. 
After  the  announcement  of  this  vvas  made  public,  he  received 
a  letter  from  a  gentleman  in  Connecticut,  suggesting  resem- 
blance between  Mr.  Webster  and  some  other  eminent  men,  par- 
ticularly Sir  Walter  Scott.     The  following  is  his  answer. 

To  E.  Jackson,  Esq.,  Middletown,  Conn. 

"Boston,  10th  Dec.  1852. 
"  Dear  Sir,  —  I  was  extremely  struck  and  gratified  by  the  kindness 
of  your  note  to  me,  and  by  the  parallel  which  it  suggested  and  pursued. 
Scarcely  anything  in  literary  or  public  biography  is  more  curious  or  just. 


1850-1855.]  DEATH    OF  MR.   WEBSTER.  185 

I  mentioned  the  thought  to  Mr.  Curtis,  —  Geo.  T.  Curtis,  —  on  whom  it 
made  instantly  the  same  impression.  I  think  the  patriotism  of  Fox  was 
less  trustwortiiy,  (having  regard  to  his  stormy  ambition,)  and  his  charac- 
ter less  bahinced  and  dignified.  He  had  less  eloquent  feeling  too,  and  less 
poetical  feeling,  and  no  veneration,  and  his  whole  intellectual  toil  was 
one  mighty  tempestuous  debate.  In  naturalness,  warmth  of  heart,  and 
prodigious  general  ability  in  political  affairs  and  public  speech,  he  does 
remind  us  of  Mr.  Webster. 

"  But  to  Scott  the  likeness  is  quite  remarkable.  I  can  add  nothing  to 
your  conception  of  it,  —  but  of  that  I  shall  try  to  profit.  Mr.  Curtis  told 
me  that  '  if  Mr.  Jackson  could  have  heard  Mr.  Webster's  conversations 
with  regard  to  keeping  the  Marshfield  estate  in  the  family,  he  would  have 
been  more  forcibly  reminded  of  Scott.'  Both  felt  the  desire  to  be  found- 
ers ;  neither  won  fortune,  nor  ti-ansmitted  inheritances  in  lands.  Both 
made  deep  and  permanent  impressions  wholly  useful  on  their  time  and  the 
next;  and  both  linked  themselves  —  shall  we  say  forever  —  to  the  fondest 
affections  as  well  as  reasonable  regards  of  very  intellectual  races. 
"  I  am  with  great  respect,  Your  servant  and  friend, 

"E.UFUS  Choate." 

The  treatment  which  Mr.  Webster  received  at  the  Bakimore 
Convention  had  ahenated  many  Whigs  at  the  North,  and  in- 
cUned  them  to  vote  for  the  Democratic  electors.  Mr.  Choate's 
position  will  be  indicated  by  the  following  letter  : 

"  To  Harvey  Jewell,  Esq.,  President  of  the  Young  Men's  Whig  Club. 

"Boston,  30th  October,  1852. 

"  Dear  Sir,  —  I  certainly  can  have  no  unwillingness  to  repeat  quite 
formally,  what  I  have  informally  said  so  many  times  to  so  many  of  our 
friends. 

"  That  I  regretted  very  keenly  our  failure  to  place  Mr.  Webster  in 
nomination,  I,  of  course,  have  never  disguised.  So  much,  too,  did  I  love 
him,  and  so  much,  so  filially  —  perhaps  for  him  so  unnecessarily  —  desire, 
that  in  all  things  his  feelings  might  be  respected,  his  claims  acknowledged, 
and  the  effect  of  the  proceedings  of  the  Convention  on  him  mitigated, 
that,  although  I  have  ever  deemed  those  proceedings  as  obliging  my  vote 
as  a  Whig,  yet  I  had  decided  that  it  would  not  be  decorous  or  right,  hav- 
ing respect  to  those  relations  with  him,  which  have  been  and  are  in  their 
memory  so  dear  to  me,  to  take  any  active  part  in  setting  on  the  head  of 
any  other  the  honors  which  he  had  earned. 

"  But  that  the  true  interests  of  the  country,  .as  our  party  has  ever  ap- 
prehended those  interests,  require,  in  the  actual  circumstances,  the  election 
of  the  eminent  person  who  is  our  regular  candidate,  I  cannot  doubt.  As 
a  Whig,  still  a  Webster  Whig,  —  standing  at  his  grave  and  revering  his 
memory,  I  think  that  more  of  his  spirit,  more  of  his  maxims  of  govern- 
ment, more  of  his  liberal  conservatism,  more  peace,  a  more  assiduous 
culture  of  that  which  we  have,  with  no  reckless  grasping  for  that  which 
we  have  not,  would  preside  in  the  administration  of  Gen.  Scott  than  in 
that  of  his  Democratic  competitor  for  the  Presidency. 

16* 


186  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CIIOATE.         [Chap.  VIII. 

"  There  are  good  men  who  esteemed  Mr.  Webster  and  Mr.  Clay  so 
highly  and  justly,  as  to  hope  that  while  they  lived,  although  out  of  office, 
their  counsels  would  still  be  of  power  to  repress  the  tendencies  to  evil, 
which  they  fear  from  the  ascendency  of  our  political  opponents.  But 
now  that  those  lights  are  passed  and  set,  must  we  not  all,  and  those  of  us 
with  a  special  solicitude,  who  followed  them  with  most  confidence,  turn  to 
others,  whose  association  and  ties  of  party,  whose  declared  opinions,  whose 
conduct  of  affairs,  and  whose  antecedents  afford  the  surest  trust,  that  their 
pi-actical  politics  will  be  those  which  we  have  so  advisedly  adopted,  and 
so  long  professed  ?  With  these  politics,  and  the  great  party  representing 
them.  Gen.  Scott  is  identified.  His  election  would  pledge  his  character 
and  honor  to  seek  through  them,  and  by  them,  the  common  good  and  gen- 
eral welfare,  and  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  the  convictions  of  his 
judgment  would  guide  him  by  the  same  path.  Certainly  he  is  a  Wliig; 
and  he  has  rendered  the  country  great  services,  in  important  conjunctures, 
in  war  and  peace. 

"  It  is  quite  needless  to  say,  then,  that  I  shall  vote  for  the  regularly 
nominated  Whig  ticket  of  electors.  He,  —  the  best  beloved,  the  most 
worthy,  —  is  in  his  grave.  Duty  subsists,  still  and  ever,  and  I  am  entirely 
persuaded  that  duty  requires  of  me  this  vote. 

"  I  am  respectfully, 

"  Your  obdt.  servt., 

"  RuFus  Choate." 

The  regular  correspondents  of  Mr.  Choate  were  few.  He 
had  not  much  time  to  give  up  even  to  that  society  which  was 
most  attractive.  Of  those  to  whom  he  wrote  with  the  free- 
dom of  a  warm  and  sympathizing  friendship,  were  Hon.  Charles 
Eames  and  Mrs.  Eames.     A  few  of  these  letters  have  heen 

kindly  placed  at  my  disposal. 

"  Boston,  Dec.  4th,  1852. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  E., —  ....  You  were  wholly  right,  and  not  the 
less  kind,  to  assume  an  explanation  of  my  silence  consistent  with  my  fixed 
and  enhancing  appreciation  of  your  friendship 

"  I  have  been  here  occasionally,  and  hurriedly  only,  since  I  last  wrote 
you  ;  but  my  chief  time  and  duties  have  been  engaged  to  my  mother,  on 
the  verge  of  a  timely  grave,  yet  sick  beyond  the  mere  inflictions  of  eighty 
years.     She  is  living  yet,  and  better 

"  Till  yesterday  1  had  nourished  a  secret,  but  great  thought  of  just 
running  on  to  Washington  for  four  days,  not  to  supersede,  but  to  prepare 
for  ray  January  visit.     Likewise,  I  could  not  go 

"  I  am  to  congratulate  you,  and  Mr.  Eames,  personally,  on  the  election 
which  he  has  influenced  so  much.  May  every  reward  he  would  seek  be 
his.  Choose  wisely  and  well,  and  above  all  fix  your  hearts  on  something 
at  home.  But  why  should  I  grudge  you  the  Fortunate  Isles,  the  Bou- 
levards, Damascus  rose  cinctured,  if  you  wish  it  ?  Give  my  love  to 
bim.  Wish  Mr.  Davis  and  Mr.  Everett  well.  '  Pray  (as  poor  Mr. 
Webster  said,)  for  the  peace  of  Jerusalem,'  and  especially  for  your 
attached  friend,  Rufds  Choate." 


1850-1855.]  RESIGNS  HIS  PLACE  AS  ATTORNEY-GENERAL.  I87 

Early  in  1853,  Mr.  Choate  lost  his  aged  and  venerable 
mother.  He  always  retained  for  her  the  most  filial  respect 
and  affection,  and  although  her  death,  at  her  advanced  age, 
was  not  unexpected,  it  filled  him  with  deep  sorrow.  Almost 
at  the  same  time  he  received  from  Governor  Clifford  the  offer 
of  the  Attorney-Generalship  of  the  State.  This  he  accepted, 
not  for  its  emoluments, — which  were  inconsiderable,  while  the 
labor  was  great,  — but  partly  because  he  considered  it  an  hon- 
orable position,  and  in  part  because  he  was  desirous  of  being 
freed  from  a  certain  class  of  distasteful  cases  which  he  did 
not  feel  quite  at  liberty  to  decline.  The  great  labor  in  this 
office  arose  from  the  fact  that  judicial  interpretation  of  the 
liquor  law  of  1852,  popularly  called  the  "  Maine  Law,"  be- 
came necessary,  and  a  large  number  of  cases  came  under  his 
charge  for  argument,  some  of  them  involving  grave  constitu- 
tional questions.  To  the  study  of  these  cases  he  devoted 
much  time  and  labor.  The  criminal  nisi  prius  trials  he  dis- 
liked ;  and  this,  together  with  certain  mere  drudgeries  of 
office,  caused  him  to  resign  his  commission  after  holding  it 
a  little  more  than  a  year. 

On  the  8d  of  May,  1853,  the  third  convention  of  the  dele- 
gates of  the  people  of  Massachusetts  met  in  Boston  to  revise 
the  Constitution  of  the  State.  It  is  doubtful  whether  an  abler 
body  of  men  ever  assembled  in  the  State.  Every  county  sent 
its  best  and  wisest  citizens.  The  convention  continued  its 
sessions  till  the  1st  of  August.  The  subjects  brought  into 
discussion  were  fundamental  to  the  being  and  prospeiity  of 
States.  In  this  dignified  and  weighty  assembly  Mr.  Choate 
spoke  on  some  of  the  most  important  questions,  and  never 
without  commanding  the  highest  respect.  His  speeches  on  the 
Basis  of  Representation,  and  on  the  Judiciary,  (the  latter  of 
which  will  be  found  in  these  volumes,)  were  listened  to  with 
profound  interest,  and  will  rank  with  the  best  specimens  of 
deliberative  eloquence. 

During  this  summer,  and  in  the  midst  of  various  distracting 
public  and  professional  duties,  he  caught  time  as  he  could,  for 
preparing  the  eulogy  upon  Mr.  Webster.  How  he  wrote  it 
may  be  inferred  from  a  little  anecdote  furnished  by  one  who 
subsequently  became  a  member  of  his  family  by  marrying  his 
youngest  daughter.^  "  I  returned  from  Europe,"  he  says,  "  in 
1  Edward  Ellertoa  Pratt,  Esq. 


188  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIH. 

1853,  and  reached  Boston  the  7th  of  July.  I  went  to  Mr. 
Choate's  house  about  9  o'clock  that  evening,  and  found  him 
in  his  chamber  reclining-  in  bed  in  a  half-sitting  posture.  On 
his  knees  rested  an  atlas,  lying  obliquely ;  in  his  left  hand 
he  held  a  lamp,  while  another  was  balanced  on  a  book  ;  in 
his  right  hand  was  his  pen.  He  playfully  excused  himself 
for  not  shaking  hands  with  me,  saying  that  he  feared  the 
sharp  reproaches  of  Mrs.  C.  if  he  should  by  any  mischance 
spill  the  oil.  On  my  asking  him  what,  at  that  time  of  night, 
and  in  that  singular  position,  he  was  doing,  he  said  he  was 
trying  to  get  a  few  things  together  to  say  at  Dartmouth 
College  in  relation  to  Mr.  Webster.  He  had  put  it  off  so 
long,  he  said,  was  so  hampered  with  work  at  his  office,  and 
had  to  give  so  much  time  to  the  Constitutional  Convention, 
then  in  session,  that  he  had  almost  made  up  his  mind  to  write 
to  the  officers  of  the  college  asking  to  be  let  off.  '  If  I  deliver 
it,'  he  added,  '  it  will  be  wholly  inadequate  to  the  theme.'  He 
did  deliver  it,  however,  but  he  said  to  me  the  day  before  he 
went  to  Dartmouth  that  any  friend  of  his  would  stay  away, 
for,  although  so  much  time  was  given  to  write  it  in,  it  was  one 
of  the  most  hurried  things  he  had  ever  done." 

With  the  high  ideal  that  was  before  his  mind,  to  him  "  much 
meditating  "  on  the  greatness  of  Mr.  Webster,  and  feeling  how- 
interwoven  was  his  life  with  the  later  history  of  the  coun- 
try, it  is  not  surprising  that  he  felt  the  insufficiency  of  any 
eulogy.  Yet  one  would  be  at  a  loss  to  know  where,  in  all  the 
records  of  such  eloquence,  for  fulness,  suggestiveness,  and  dis- 
crimination, for  richness  and  vitality,  for  beauty  of  language 
and  felicity  of  allusion,  for  compactness  and  for  amplification, 
to  find  another  to  equal  it. 

To  HIS  Daughter  Sarah. 

Monday,  August,  1853. 

"Dear  Sallie,  —  The  accompanying  leltei*  came  to  me  to-day,  and 
I  send  it  witli  alacrity.  I  wish  you  would  study  calligraphy  in  it,  if  what 
I  see  not,  is  as  well  written  as  what  I  do.  I  got  quietly  home,  to  a  cool, 
empty  house,  unvexed  of  mosquito,  sleeping  to  the  drowsy  cricket.  It 
lightened  a  little,  thundered  still  less,  and  rained  a  half  an  hour ;  but  the 
sensation,  the  consciousness  that  the  Sirian-tartarean  summer  is  really 
gone  —  though  it  is  sad  that  so  much  of  W^e  goes  too  —  is  delightful. 
Next  summer  will  probably  be  one  long  April  or  October.  By  the  way, 
the  dream  of  the  walnut  grove  and  the  light-house  is  finished.     They 


1850-1855.]  LETTER  TO   MRS.   EAMES.  IgQ 

will  not  sell,  and  the  whole  world  is  to  choose  from  yet.^  I  see  and  hear 
nothing  of  nobody.  I  bought  a  capital  book  to-day  by  Bungener,  called 
'Voltaire  and  his  Times,'  fifty  pages  of  wiiich  I  have  run  over.  He  is 
the  author  of '  Three  Sermons  under  Louis  XV.',  and  is  keen,  bright,  and 
just,  according  to  my  ideas,  as  far  as  I  have  gone.  My  course  this  week 
is  rudely  broken  in  upon  by  the  vileness  and  vulgarity  of  business,  and 
this  day  has  been  lean  of  good  books  and  rich  thoughts,  turning  chiefly 
on  whether  charcoal  is  an  animal  nui^ance,  and  whether  Dr.  Manning's 
will  shall  stand.  Still,  Ruf'us  will  be  glad  to  hear  I  read  my  iEschinea 
and  Cicero  and  German  Martial,  and,  as  I  have  said,  this  Bungener. 

"  I  wish  you  would  all  come  home,  that  is,  that  your  time  had  arrived. 
Pick  up,  dear  daughter,  health,  nerves,  and  self-trust,  and  come  here  to 
make  the  winter  of  our  discontent  glorious  summer. 

"  Thank  your  dear  mother  and  Rufus  for  their  letters.  1  hope  for 
Minnie  a  neck  without  a  crick,  and  a  lot  without  a  crook,  if  one  may  be 
so  jinglesome.  One  of  the  Choates  of  Salem  called  in  my  absence  — 
if  Daniel  did  not  see  a  doppel-gavger,  in  a  dream  —  but  which,  where 
he  is,  what  he  wants,  where  he  goes,  or  how  he  fares,  I  know  not.  I 
would  invite  him  to  dine,  if  I  knew  where  he  was.  Best  love  to  all. 
Tell  your  mother  I  don't  believe  I  shall  write  her  for  two  or  three  days, 
but  give  her,  and  all,  my  love.  I  like  the  court-house  prospect  and  the 
Bucolical  cow,  and  verdant  lawn  much,  as  Minnie  says.     Good-by,  all. 

"  R.  C." 

During  this  fall,  his  health,  which  with  the  exception  of 
severe  headaches,  had  been  generally  good,  occasioned  himself 
and  his  friends  some  anxiety.  He  alludes  to  it  in  the  follow- 
ing letters. 

To  Mrs.  Eames. 

"Boston,  13th  Nov.  1853. 

"  Mt  dear  Mrs.  Eames,  —  ....  I  had  a  narrow  escape  from 
going  just  now  to  New  York,  and  then  taking  a  flying  aim  at  Washing- 
ton. The  Doctors  and  I  have  changed  all  that,  and  resolved  that  instead 
of  any  such  unsatisfactory  splurging,  I  should  go  quietly  to  Washington, 
like  a  grave  citizen  and  elderly  lawyer,  and  make,  as  it  were,  a  business 
of  it,  see  my  friends,  try  a  case,  go  to  the  theatre  and  the  levee,  and  all 

the  rest  of  it,  say  in  December  or  January 1  have  come  quite 

near  being  placed  among  the  Emeritus  Pi'ofessors  in  the  great  life  uni- 
versity, that  reserved  and  lamentable  corps,  whose  'long  day  is  done,' 
and  who  may  sleep. 

"  There  again  the  Doctors  and  I  were  too  much  for  them,  and  I  am  all 
right  again,  with  injunctions  to  do  but  little,  nor  do  that  little  long,  at  a 
time.  Such  a  change  of  life  sets  me  thinking,  which  is  disagreeable,  and 
resolving,  which  only  paves  bad  places  with  good  intentions 

"  I  must  say  I  think  your  administration  —  toil  though  it  does  and  spin 
—  is  not  yet  arrayed  with  all  the  glory  of  Solomon,  or  even  of  the  lilies 
of  the  field.  "  Yours  truly, 

"  R.  Choate. 

"  P.  S.  —  Mr.  Everett  is  rising  in  my  telescope." 

1  Referring  to  a  project  of  purchasing  a  site  for  building  at  Essex. 


190  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIH. 

To  Mrs.  Eames. 

"Boston,  17th  Dec.  1853. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Eames,  —  I  took  the  liberty  yesterday  to  address 
to  you  the  first  two  volumes  of  Lord  J.  Russell's  '  Moore,'  and  to  ask  our 
Little  and  Brown  to  include  it  in  their  collections  for  the  Washington 
Express.  Mine  I  have  not  yet  received,  but  I  promise  myself  that  the 
thing  will  have  some  interest  with  those  old  people  at  least  who  began 
life,  as  I  did,  upon  'I  saw  from  the  beach,'  '  Vale  of  Avoca,'  '  Erin  go 
Bragh,'  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Whether  it  will  for  you,  I  fear  and  doubt, 
yet  you  will  agree  that  we  have  never  seen  and  never  shall  see  anything 
like  that  glorious  constellation  of  poets  which  illustrated  the  first  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  years  of  this  century,  and  which  has  set  to  the  last  star. 
Beaming  brightly  and  singing  like  a  seraph,  sometimes,  among  these 
lights,  was  poor  Moore.  Therefore  I  hope  the  package  will  go  safely  and 
come  regularly  to  hand,  as  the  merchants'  clerks  do  write. 

"  My  visit  to  Washington  recedes  like  any  horizon.  Mr.  Davis  has 
me  in  charge,  but  any  time  after  the  10th  of  January,  if  he  bids  me 
come,  I  come.  Please  to  entreat  him  to  hasten  that  day,  as  he  hopes  to 
have  his  eulogy  read  and  appreciated. 

"  Our  winter  has  come  frosty  but  kindly.  Thus  far,  as  a  mere  matter 
of  cold,  heat,  snow,  it  is  as  good  as  a  Washington  winter.  I  do  not  say 
that  it  presents  just  the  same  aggregate  and  intensity  of  moral,  social, 
and  personal  interest. 

"  Please  give  my  best  regards  to  Mr.  Eames  and  all  friends. 

"  Most  truly  yours, 

"R.  Choate." 

The  following"  letter  to  Mr.  Everett,  (then  a  member  of  the 
United  States  Senate,)  with  its  reference  to  topics  of  great 
national  importance  will  explain  itself. 

To  Hon.  Edward  Everett. 

"  Boston,  4th  Feb.  1854. 

"  Dear  Sir,  —  I  have  not  delayed  to  answer  your  letter  for  want  of 
interest  in  the  subject,  and  still  less  from  want  of  strong  personal  desire 
that  your  own  course  should  be  as  fortunate  as  it  will  be  conspicuous  and 
influencive.  But  in  truth,  I  did  not  know  enough  of  the  whole  ground 
of  opinion  and  duty  and  hazards,  to  make  my  suggestions  of  real  value, 
and  yet,  good  for  nothing  else,  they  might  mislead.  JMeantime,  as  far  as 
I  can  possibly  discern,  the  whole  free  world  of  tlie  United  States  seems 
likely  to  demand  the  observance  of  the  Missouri  Compromise.  I  must 
say,  that  I  think  that  a  speech  and  a  course  adhering  to  that  great  ad- 
justment, and  reconciling  that  with  the  compromises  of  1850,  will  be 
claimed  here,  and  I  should  be  amazed  and  grieved,  if  this  could  do  harm 
anywliere.  Yet  for  myself,  I  should  consult  the  spirit  of  the  proceeding 
of  18-30  and  execute  that,  whithersoever  it  led.  But  I  cannot  yet  see 
how  that  should  demand  such  a  measure  as  this  of  Mr.  Douglas. 

"  The  result,  with  me  and  with  all  here,  is  that  we  feel  the  deepest 
solicitude  that  you  should  not  be  drawn  into  a  position  which  can  impair 


1850-1855.]  LETTER   TO   RUFUS   CHOATE,  JR.  jgj 

your  large  prospects,  and  that  we  hope  that  you  may  defeat  the  further 
extension  of  slavery  on  grounds  and  by  reasonings  that  will  not  lose  you 
one  American  heart  or  judgment  anywhere. 

"  I  am  most  truly, 

"  Your  servant  and  friend, 

"RuFUs  Choate. 

A  few  letters  here  to  his  son,  then  a  student  in  Amherst 
College,  and  to  his  daughter  Sarah,  will  give  us  an  insight 
into  the  thoughts  and  ways  of  home. 

To  RuFus  Choate,  Jr. 
"Boston,  Feb.  13,  1854.     Monday  morning,  six  o'clock. 

"  Mt  dearest  Son,  —  I  am  afraid  the  elite  of  Amherst  are  not  stir- 
ring quite  so  early  as  this,  but  as  my  writing  here  by  my  lamp  does  not 
disturb  you,  and  as  I  think  of  you  always,  but  with  peculiar  interest  and 
love  when  I  look  round  my  study  at  this  early  hour,  I  will  say  a  word 
while  M.  is  waiting  for  the  coach  to  carry  him  to  the  Portland  cars. 

"I  have  had  a  very  fatiguing  winter,  contending  —  as  the  French  bul- 
letins used  to  say  when  badly  beaten  —  *  with  various  success.'  However, 
I  have  had  my  share  of  causes,  and  my  chief  grief  after  S.'s  sickness,  has 
been  that  I  have  had  so  little  time  for  literary  readings.  Euripides 
stands  neglected  on  the  shelf,  Alcestis  dying  alone,  and  the  last  days 
of  Augustus  are  as  if  Tacitus  had  not  recorded  them  with  his  pen  of  steel. 
You  are  happier  in  having  days  and  nights  for  the  most  delightful  of  all 
things,  the  studies  of  college.     My  dear  son,  make  much  of  this  fleeting 

hour,  and  all  future  exertions  and  acquirements  will  be  easy To 

see  you  come  out  of  college  affectionate,  true,  pure,  and  a  good  scholar, 
to  begin  the  law  at  Cambridge  with  hope  and  ambition,  is  the  desire 

which  more  than  all  else  gives  interest  to  my  future M.  has  gone. 

Daniel  appears  with  the  newspapers  ;  it  approaches  sunrise,  and  I  must 
turn  to  prepare  for  '  Gray  et  al.  v.  Coburn,"  for  the  hour  and  a  quarter 
before  breakfast.     Good-by." 


To  HIS  Daughter  Sarah. 

"  Boston,  9  July,  [1854.] 

"  Dearest  Sallie,  —  I  was  delighted  to  find  your  letter  and  mother's 
on  my  return  from  the  broiled,  though  sea-girt,  Nantucket.  I  will  not 
say  that  I  could  read  a  word  of  it,  before  the  affectionate  and  craving 
Helen  carried  it  off,  —  snatched  it  as  one  may  say,  from  the  unsated  pa- 
rental jaws.     But  at  dinner  with  her  to-day  I  shall  recover  it  interpreted. 

"  I  am  sorry  the  geography  is  a  failure.  Astronomy  and  St.  Pierre  — 
stars  and  harmonies  of  earth,  I  hope  will  enable  you  to  support  the  neces- 
sary delay  in  finding  another.  Meantime  the  Russian  war  is  going  to 
end ;  the  Turkish  moons  are  at  the  full ;  and  except  Kansas  and  Ne- 
braska, no  spot  of  earth  has  a  particle  of  interest  adscititious,  present,  and 
transient  —  though  all  must  be  generally  known  or  '  history  her  ample 


122  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIII. 

page  rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,'  inadequately  unrolls.  I  much  fear  that 
we  are  doomed  to  more  of  Malte  Brun  and  of  the  crust  of  the  earth.  I 
will  look,  however. 

"  I  am  rebuked  at  finding  that  the  great  treatises  on  Will  and  Sin  were 
not  written  at  West  Stockbridge,  after  all.  It  follows,  first,  that  so  much 
of  our  ride  was  what  Rufus  calls  a  sell;  secondlj^  that  the  most  ari'ogant 
memories  will  fail  —  be  nonplussed  —  the  characters,  the  imagery,  as 
Locke  says,  fading  out  of  this  brass  and  marble  ;  and  thirdly,  that  all  ex- 
ternal beauty  of  scenery  is  mainly  created  and  projected  from  within. 
How  still  and  studious  looked  West  Stockbridge  —  and  now  what  a  poor, 
little,  half-starved  saw-mill  of  a  situation  it  is  ! 

*  The  disenchanted  earth  lost  half  its  lustre ; 
The  great  magician 's  dead.' 

I  will  be  confident  of  nothing  again  —  *  that's  -P02,'  as  Miss  Edgeworth's 
story  —  or  somebody's,  has  it. 

"  Sallie,  if  it  is  cool  in  Lenox  —  if  there  is  one  cool  spot ;  yea,  if  there 
is  a  place  where  by  utmost  effort  of  abstraction,  you  can  think  upon  the 
frosty  Caucasus  ;  upon  the  leaves  of  aspen  in  motion  ;  upon  any  mockery 
or  mimicry  of  coolness  and  zephyrs,  be  glad.  Our  house  glows  like  a 
furnace ;  the  library  seems  like  a  stable  of  brazen,  roasting  bulls  of  Pha- 
laris,  tyrant  of  Agrigentum  —  of  whom  you  read  in  De  Quincey  ;  and  I 
woo  sleep  on  three  beds  and  a  sofa  in  vain.  All  would  be  sick  here  — 
and  I  already  am,  or  almost  so. 

"  I  hope  the  Astronomy  engages  you,  and  the  St.  Pierre.  Botany  and 
other  natural  history  will  soothe  you,  dear  child  ;  when  the  burning  and 
suggestive  words  of  mere  literature  sting  as  serpents. 

"  Good  by  dear  fille. 
"R.  C." 


To  Rufus  Choate,  Jr. 

"Boston,  19  July,  1854. 

"  Dearest  Son,  —  I  was  grieved  when  I  got  home  to  find  what  an 
inhospitable  time  you  had  of  it.  If  you  had  hinted  your  purpose,  Helen 
surely  would  have  welcomed  you.  I  could  not,  for  I  was  melting  be- 
neath the  Nantucket  court-house.  Next  time  let  us  know,  that  we  may 
make  your  shortest  vacation  pleasant.  Yesterday  I  ought  to  have  been 
at  Washington.  What  they  have  done  I  know  not.  If  my  friends  car- 
ried an  adjournment  it  is  well.  If  not,  the  Library /mY,  as  the  expres- 
sive perfect  tense  has  it. 

"  I  was  very  sorry  that  I  could  not  stay  longer  in  your  poor  little 
pleasant  room,  and  seem  to  get  more  into  your  college  intimate  life. 
It  glides  away  so  fast,  and  is  so  delightful  a  portion  of  the  whole  term 
of  life,  that  I  should  envy  every  day  and  hour.     I  prized  mine.     Yet 

now,  as  the  poet  says,  it  is  my  grief  that  I  prized  it  no  more They 

will  rejoice  to  see  you  at  Lenox,  where  I  hope  to  meet  you.  The 
cool  weather  of  the  4th  continues,  and  seems  likely  to,  till  men  call  on 
Caucasus  to  bury  them  and  done  with  it. 


1850-1855.]      LETTER   TO    HIS   DAUGHTER    SARAH.  I93 

To  RuFUS  Choate,  Jr. 

"  Boston,  24  Sept.  [1854.] 
"My  dear  dear  Son,  — You  were  very  good  to  write  me,  and  if  I 
had  not  been  rather  harder  at  work  than  ever  before,  I  should  have  writ- 
ten sooner.  I  have  just  finished  an  insurance  trial  of  some  ten  or  eleven 
days,  very  scraggJy  and  ticklish  —  though  a  just  claim  —  and  won  it, 
against  a  very  strong  charge  of  the  judge.  Then  came  another  insurance 
cause  where  J.  and  I  were  for  the  otSce,  deft,  —  and  had  the  luck  to 
get  that  too,  in  three  or  four  hours.  I  had  to  snatch  any  moment  to  write 
a  little  address  for  Danvers.  Altogether,  therefore,  I  am  utterly  prostrated 
and  unstrung.  I  would  give  a  thousand  dollars,  if  I  could  afford  it,  for  an 
undisturbed  rest  of  a  week.  The  house  is  now  in  most  perfect  order.  If 
dear  mother,  SalUe,  Minnie,  and  you  were  here,  it  would  be  more  perfect 
even. 


To  HIS  Daughter  Sarah. 

"  Sept.  [1854.] 

"My  dear  Sallie,  —  You  were  a  special  good  girl  to  write  me  — 
pausing  among  so  many  grand  spectacles,  iaughing  girls,  and  moustached 
artists  —  if  that  is  the  French  of  it  —  and  I  should  have  written  be- 
fore if  I  had  not  been  '  blowed.'  I  was  '  overworked '  for  about  twelve 
days,  and  up  to  yesterday  morning,  when  I  came  out  of  the  pestilential 
court-house  to  compose  an  address  on  Knoivledge,  for  Danvers.  The 
topic  is  new  and  the  thoughts  rise  slowly  and  dubious.  However  I  shall 
go  through  this  also  —  as  a  thief  through  a  horse-pond  —  in  the  simile  of 
Lord  Chancellor  Thurlow. 

"  The  autumn  here  now  outshines  itself.  Such  skies  and  such  un- 
blanched  gi-een  leafiness,  and  occasional  peach  and  plum,  I  have  never  seen. 
Our  grapery  is,  as  it  were,  Florentine  and  Mantuanical ;  but  for  mere 
eating  I  have  preferred  such  as  you  buy  of  the  common  dealers  in  the 
article.  Lately  I  have  given  no  dinners.  I  have  in  fact  for  ten  days  not 
dined  at  home,  but  at  the  restaurant.  To-morrow  I  hope  to  be  at  home. 
I  never  saw  the  house  so  clean,  lovely,  still,  and  homelike.  They  have 
washed  everything  —  unless  it  is  Cicero  and  Demosthenes,  and  it  seems 
to  me  their  very  bronze  seems  sleek,  fleshly,  and  cleansed.  My  books 
are  all  bound,  and  all  up  —  and  if  mother  and  you  were  here,  and  Min- 
nie, and  I  could  rest,  rest,  rest,  one  day  —  one  week  —  stock  still  —  still 
as  a  '  statute '  —  I  should  be  too  happy. 

"  I  have  just  written  your  mother  suggesting,  1st,  whether  she  is  ever 
coming  home  ;  2d,  when,  if  ever,  she  is  coming  ;  3d,  what  money  it  will 
take  to  come,  to  bring  honey,  also  you,  and  any  '  Jew  or  Jewess.' 

"  Good-by,  poor  dear  roe,  hart,  and  pelican  upon  the  mountains.  I 
look  at  the  picture  in  the  dining-room  daily,  and  wonder  if  you  see  sights 
so  brilliant  and  light  —  then  turn  again  to  my  baked  apple,  farina,  or 
what  not. 

"  Good-by,  dear  pet.  I  have  had  three  nights  to  sleep  in  your  room. 
All  well  at  Helen's.  Your  Vater." 

VOL.  I.  17 


194*  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIII. 

In  September  1854  Mr,  Choate  delivered  the  address  at 
the  dedication  of  the  Peabody  Institute  in  South  Danvers. 
This  institution  was  founded  by  the  munificence  of  Geo. 
Peabody,  Esq.  of  London,  and  from  the  first  was  reg^arded 
with  great  interest  by  Mr.  Choate,  who  watched  with  sincere 
pleasure  the  prosperity  of  the  town  where  he  commenced 
his  professional  life,  and  which  conferred  upon  him  his  first 
honors.  The  year  was  otherwise  filled  with  the  ordinary 
labors  of   the  law. 

In  the  meantime  his  friend  Mr.  Eames  had  been  ap- 
pointed  Minister-Resident   at   Caraccas. 

To  Mr.  Everett. 

«  Winthrop  Place,  Oct.  9,  1854. 

"  My  dear  Sir,  —  I  thank  you  for  your  kind  invitation,  and  should 
have  the  truest  pleasure  in  accepting  it,  but  I  am  so  much  the  victim  of 
an  urgent  and  ignominious  mcdice  —  as  Mr.  S.  Smith  might  say,  —  that 
I  am  cruelly  forbidden  all  such  opportunity. 

"  You  are  more  than  kind  to  the  Danvers  affair.  And  really,  because 
one  is  not  an  Academician,  is  he  not  therefore  to  be  indulged  in  his  oc- 
casional platitudes  and  commonplaces  ? 

"  I  am  most  truly 

"  Your  servant  and  friend,   . 

"  RuFus  Choate." 


To  Mrs.  Fames. 

"  Boston,  31st  Oct.  1854. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Eames  :  —  I  have  been  imagining  through  all  these 
divine  days,  how  supreme  must  be  the  beauty  on  all  things  about  you  — 
and  have  sighed  for  the  sight  of  all  that  scene  in  your  company  again. 
Meanwhile  the  leaf  falls,  and  the  last  lark  will  send  up  his  note  of  fare- 
well ;  the  school-ma'am  will  have  recovered,  and  the  school-house  will  be 
coming  alive  with  the  various  hubbub  of  childhood,  and  the  time  draws 
on  when  you  will  go,  perhaps  to  look  back  from  a  grander  Nature  to  that 
plain  New  England  solitude  which  you  have  found,  and  made,  so  delight- 
ful —  to  look  back  homesick  and  with  affectionate  sadness 

"  I  have  seen  Mr.  Everett  once,  and  had  a  most  pleasant  hour  —  not 
unmingled  with  pain.  He  looks  despondingly  outward ;  and  I  think  his 
personal  hopes  are  turning  from  politics  and  their  bubble  reputation.  In 
his  library,  he  seems  to  sit  above  all  annoyance,  at  the  centre  of  all  rea- 
sonable felicities  —  a  happy  and  great  character,  who  may  yet  write  his 
name  forever  on  our  history, 

"  I  hope  all  your  little,  and  thrice  dear  children  are  well,  and  give  you 
no  alarm.  They  seem  well,  happy,  and  of  rare  goodness  and  interest. 
If  it  should  so  happen  that  I  can  by  any  possibility  see  you  and  Mr, 


1«50-1855.]       LETTER  TO   HON.    CHARLES   EAMES.  195 

Eames  before  you  go  —  if  go  you  must  —  I  mean  to  do  it  —  here  —  or 

at  New  Braintree,  or  in  New  York 

"  Yours  truly, 

"R.    ClIOATE." 

Notwithstanding-  his  hibors  and  periodical  suffering  from 
sick-headaches,  Mr.  Choate's  general  health  was  good.  A 
strong  constitution  and  vigorous  frame  enabled  him  to  endure 
a  vast  amount  of  work  without  injury.  But  early  in  1855 
he  met  with  an  accident  which  confined  him  for  several 
months  to  his  house  and  for  much  of  the  time  to  his  room. 
While  at  Dedham  during  the  trial  of  a  cause,  he  hit  his 
knee  against  the  corner  of  a  table.  This  brought  on  an 
inflammation  of  the  joint,  which  became  complicated  with 
other  ailments,  to  which  time  only  could  bring  relief.^ 
During  this  period  of  seclusion,  he  was  not  cut  off  from 
the  solace  of  his  library,  nor  entirely  unable  to  study.  He 
never  more  fully  enjoyed  the  society  of  his  friends,  giving 
himself  up  freely  to  those  whom  he  loved.  Mr.  Everett 
particularly,  used  to  visit  him  regularly  two  or  three  times 
a  week,  sometimes  to  bring  a  new  book,  sometimes  to  impart 
intelligence,  not  generally  known,  always  to  bring  sunlight 
to  the  quiet  library  of  the  invalid.  So  much  interested  had 
both  become  in  this  unwonted  familiarity,  that  on  Mr.  Choate's 
resuming  his  professional  labors,  Mr.  Everett  remarked  to 
him,  that,  for  his  own  sake,  he  could  only  wish  one  thing, 
namely,  that  he  might  hurt  his  knee  again.  To  that  friendly 
interest  Mr.  Choate  alludes  in  one  of  the  following  letters, 
both  bearing-  the  same  date. 

To  Hon.  Charles  Eames. 

"  Boston,  29th  June,  1855. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Eames,  —  I  doubt  if  you  see  a  brighter  sun  or  drink  a 
bahnier  air  than  I  do  to-day,  but  I  hope  you  are  as  well  as  the  rosy- 
fingered  June  of  New  England  could  make  you.  Our  summer,  they  say, 
is  cool  and  backward ;  but  whoso  desires  anything  diviner  than  this  morn- 
ing may  go  farther  and  fare  worse. 

1  As  a  result  of  the  accident,  he  was  wards  remarked  to  a  friend,  that   "  it 

obliged  to  submit  to  a  slight   surgical  was   very  pleasant  till  the  moment  of 

operation ;   but  so  sensitive  was  he  to  utterly  surrendering  couseiousiiess,  — 

physical  suffering,  that  even  this  made  then  death  itself  could  not  have  been 

a  considerable  draft  upon  his  nervous  more  awful." 
energies.     He  took  ether,  and  after- 


195  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  VIII. 

"  I  thank  you  and  Mi'S.  Eames  for  your  kind  remembrances.  I  have 
had  a  pretty  sorry  Spring  of  it ;  but  it  may  be  accepted  for  some  years 
of  indifferent  health  in  the  future.  My  physicians  talk  of  change  of  life 
—  renovation  —  rejuvenescence  and  what  not  —  hoc  erat  in  votis  cer- 
tainly —  but  who  knows  what  shall  be  on  the  morrow  ?  .  .  .  . 

"  Your  estate  is  gracious  that  keeps  you  out  of  hearing  of  our  politics. 
Anything  more  low — obscene — feculent — the  manifold  oceanic  heav- 
ings  of  history  have  not  cast  up.  We  shall  come  to  the  worship  of 
onions  —  cats  —  and  things  vermiculate.  '  Renown  and  grace  are  dead.' 
'  There 's  nothing  serious  in  mortality.'  If  any  wiser  saw  or  instance, 
ancient  or  modern,  occurred  to  me  to  express  the  enormous  impossible 
inanity  of  American  things,  I  should  utter  it.  Bless  your  lot  then,  which 
gives  you  to  volcanoes,  earthquakes,  feather-cinctured  chiefs,  and  dusty 
sights  of  the  tropics.  I  wish  I  was  there  with  all  my  heart  —  that  I  do  — 

"After  all,  the  Democratic  chance  is  best.  The  whole  South  is 
Pierce's  —  I  think  —  so  is  the  foreign  vote  of  the  North.     So  will  be 

Pennsylvania,  I  guess 

"  I  write  to  Mrs.  Eames  and  send  love  to  her  and  the  babes. 
"  I  wish  you   health,  happiness,  and   ti-eaties  of  immortal  peace  and 
fame.     Most  truly, 


"  Yours, 

"  R.  Choate." 


Hon.  Charles  Eames,  8^c.  S^c.  S^c,  Caraccas. 


To  Mrs.  Eames. 

"  Boston,  29th  June,  1855. 
"  My  dear  Mrs.  Eames,  —  I  have  only  just  got  abroad  after  a  con- 
finement of  a  matter  of  four  months,  and,  with  a  hand  still  tremulous, 
though  I  flatter  myself  legible  to  the  eye  of  a  true  friendship,  I  would 
send  you  my  love  and  good  wishes  —  chiefly  and  first  congratulating  you 
upon  your  safe  arrival  at  that  vortex  of  palms  and  earthquakes  and  sea- 
change.  My  —  our  —  excellent  Mr.  Everett  has  reported  with  some 
frequency  of  you  ;  and  here  come  a  tin  case,  and  a  httle  letter,  more 
tellingly  assuring  me  that  your  kindness  is  untravelled,  and  that  you 
remember  and  wish  to  be  remembered  from  the  other  side  of  this  watery 

wilderness  of  separation 

"  I  have  come  out  of  town  to-day  about  three  miles  to  my  daughter 
Bell's  —  to  '  lie  at  large  and  sing  the  glories  of  the  circling  year  '  —  as 
Thomson,  or  who  was  he,  says  —  but  more  particularly  and  properly  to 
write  to  you.  She  and  her  husband,  not  expecting  me,  have  gone  into 
Boston ;  and  I  am  alone  in  a  little  library  in  a  garden,  held,  as  it  were 
to  the  very  breast  of  June.  It  is  our  summer  at  its  best  —  roses  —  hens 
and  chickens  —  green  peas  —  honeysuckle  —  cocks  crowing  —  a  balmy 
west  wind  heavy  with  sweets.  I  wish,  instead  of  the  fierce  and  gigantic 
heats  and  growths  and  outlandish  glory  and  beauty  of  Caraccas  —  whose 
end  is  to  be  burned  —  you,  your  children,  and  Mr.  Eames  were  here  — 
'  pastoral  and  pathetic  '  —  virtuously  and  contentedly  a  smelling  of  this 
new-mown  hay  and  walking  with  me  —  I,  on  two  crutches  —  say  two 
sticks  —  like  the  title  of  some  beastly  French  novel  —  and  talking  over 


1850-1855.]  LETTER   TO   MRS.   EAMES.  19*7 

the  old  times.  You  see  Boston  through  the  trees,  and  hear  now  and 
then,  the  whistle  of  invisible  cars  —  otherwise,  you  might  fancy  yourself 
fifty  thousand  globes  from  cities  or  steam.  These  are  the  places  and  the 
moments  for  that  discourse  in  which  is  so  much  more  of  our  happiness 
than  in  actualities  of  duty,  or  even  in  hope. 

''  I  look  forward  with  longing  to  your  coming  back.  Come  unchanged 
all  of  you  —  except  the  children,  who  are  to  be  bigger,  darker,  and  even 
handsomer 

"  I  mean  to  go  out  and  hear  Mr.  Everett  on  the  4th  of  July,  at  his 
native  Dorchester.  He  will  outdo  himself,  and  I  wish  you  and  Mr. 
Eames  could  hear  him.  He  has  been  inexpressibly  kind  to  me  in  my 
confinement. 

"  I  am  slowly  getting  well  —  nothing  remains  of  it  all  but  a  disabled 
knee,  and  that  is  slowly  getting  well  too 

"  God  bless  you  all.     Write  by  every  wind  that  comes  this  way. 

"  Yours  most  truly, 

"  R.  Choate." 


17* 


198  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

1855-1858. 

Love  of  the  Union  —  Letter  to  the  Whig  Convention  at  Worcester,  October, 
1855 — Letter  to  Rev.  Chandler  Robbins  —  Lecture  on  the  Early  British 
Poets  of  this  century,  March,  1856  —  Sir  Walter  Scott  —  Political  Cam- 
paign of  1856  —  Detei'uiines  to  support  Mr.  Buchanan  —  Letter  to  the 
Whigs  of  Maine  —  Address  at  Lowell  —  Letter  to  J.  C.  Walsh  —  Profes- 
sional position  —  His  Library  —  Lecture  on  The  Eloquence  of  Revolution- 
ary Periods,  February,  1857  —  Defence  of  Mrs.  Dalton  —  Oration  before 
the  Boston  Democratic  Club,  July  4th,  1858. 

Of  all  feelings  and  sentiments  none  was  stronger  in  Mr. 
Choate's  mind  than  the  love  of  country.  But  it  was  the  whole 
country,  the  one  undivided  and  indivisible  nation  that 
absorbed  his  interest.  Strongly  as  he  was  attached  to  Massa- 
chusetts, —  and  no  son  ever  loved  her  with  a  more  filial  devo- 
tion, —  he  saw  the  greatness  of  the  State  in  the  prosperity  of 
the  Union.  The  narrower  virtue  was  always  absorbed  in  the 
grander.  The  large  and  strong  patriotism  of  Washington  and 
Madison  and  Hamilton  and  Webster,  assumed  a  new  intensity 
in  his  bosom.  Every  speech,  every  lecture,  almost  every  public 
utterance  of  his  during  his  later  years,  is  full  of  this  spirit.  It 
was  the  side  on  which  his  sympathies  touched  those  of  the 
Democratic  party,  far  from  it  as  he  ever  had  been,  on  so  many 
points  of  national  policy.  "  There  are  a  good  many  tilings," 
he  said  in  a  speech  at  Worcester,  in  ISrtS,  "that  I  like  in  the 
Democratic  party.  I  like  their  nationality  and  their  spirit  of 
union,  after  all.  I  like  the  American  feeling  that  pervades  the 
masses."  It  was  this  feeling,  not  merely  an  intellectual  convic- 
tion that  the  Union  was  necessary  for  safety  and  prosperity,  but 
the  nationality,  the  "country's  majestic  presence"  which  led  him 
to  oppose  every  political  scheme  which  looked  to  less  than  the 
welfare  of  the  whole.  This  feeling  of  patriotism  grew  stronger 
and  stronger  as  he  saw  others  apparently  indifferent  to  it,  or 
proposing  measures  which,  by  disregarding  the  interests  and 


1855-1858.]      LETTER   TO   THE    WHIG    CONVENTION.  IQQ 

feeling's  of  large  States,  would  necessarily  tend,  as  he  thought, 
to  make  them  disloyal. 

From  the  illness  of  the  earlier  part  of  1855,  Mr.  Choate 
recovered  sufficiently  to  enter  with  some  eagerness  into  the 
political  contests  of  the  autumn.  A  new  party,  called,  from 
their  secret  organization,  "  Know-nothings,"  and  subsequently 
claiming  the  name  of  "  American,"  had  sprung  up  in  several 
States,  and  in  Massachusetts  had  made  unexpected  inroads  into 
both  the  great  parties  which,  before,  had  mainly  divided  the 
peoj)le.  The  Whigs,  however,  were  not  inclined  to  give  up 
their  organization.  A  convention  was  holden  in  Worcester 
early  in  October.  Mr.  Choate  was  one  of  the  delegates  from 
Boston,  and  not  being  able  to  attend,  sent  the  following  letter, 
the  concluding  sentence  of  which  has  passed  into  one  of  the 
watchwords  of  patriotism. 

Letter  to  the  Whig  Convention  at  Worcester,  Mass. 

Boston,  October  1,  1855. 
"  Messrs.  Peter  Butler,  Jr.,  and  Bradley  N.   Cummings,  Secretaries,   §'c.,  §'c. 

"Gentlemen,  —  I  discover  that  my  enp;ageraents  will  not  allow  me 
to  attend  the  convention  to  be  holden  at  Worcester  to-morrow,  and  I  hope 
that  it  is  not  too  late  to  fill  the  vacancy. 

"I  assure  the  Whigs  of  Boston  that  I  should  have  regarded  it  as  a 
duty  and  a  privilege,  if  it  had  been  practicable,  to  serve  as  one  of  their 
delegates.  The  business  which  the  convention  meets  to  do  gives  it 
extraordinary  attraction  as  well  as  importance. 

"  Wliether  we  are  dead,  as  reported  in  the  newspapers,  or,  if  not, 
whether  we  shall  fall  upon  our  own  swords  and  die  even  so,  will  be  a 
debate  possessing  the  interest  of  novelty  at  least.  For  one,  I  deny  the 
death,  and  object  to  the  suicide,  and  should  be  glad  to  witness  the  indig- 
nation and  laughter  with  which  such  a  question  will  be  taken. 

"■  If  there  shall  be  in  that  assembly  any  man,  who,  still  a  Whig,  or 
having  been  such,  now  proposes  to  dissolve  the  party,  let  him  be  fully 
heard  and  courteously  answered  upon  his  reasons.  Let  hitn  declare  what 
party  we  shall  join.  Neutrality  in  any  sharp  civil  dissension  is  cowardly, 
immoral,  and  disreputable.  To  what  party,  then,  does  he  recommend  us  ? 
I  take  it  for  granted  it  will  not  be  to  the  Democratic  ;  I  take  it  for  granted, 
also,  not  the  American.  To  what  other,  then  ?  To  that  of  fusion  cer- 
tainly, to  the  Republican,  —  so  called,  I  suppose,  because  it  is  organized 
upon  a  doctrine,  and  aims  at  ends,  and  appeals  to  feelings,  on  which  one 
half  of  the  Republic,  by  a  geographical  line,  is  irreconcilably  opposed  to 
the  other.     Even  to  that  party. 

"  Let  him  be  heard  on  his  reasons  for  deserting  our  connection  and 
joining  such  an  one.  To  me,  the  answer  to  them  all,  to  all  such  as  I 
have  heard,  or  can  imagine,  seems  ready  and  decisive. 


200  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

"  Suppressing  entirely  all  that  natural  indignation  and  sense  of  wounded 
pride  and  grief  which  might  be  permitted  in  view  of  such  a  proposition  to 
Whigs  who  remember  their  history,  —  the  names  of  the  good  and  wise 
men  of  the  living  and  dead,  that  have  illustrated  their  connection,  and 
served  their  country  through  it,  —  who  remember  their  grand  and  large 
creed  of  Union,  the  Constitution,  peace  with  honor,  nationality,  the  de- 
velopment and  culture  of  all  sources  of  material  growth,  the  education 
of  the  people,  the  industry  of  the  people, —  suppressing  the  emotions  which 
Whigs,  remembering  this  creed  and  the  fruits  it  has  borne,  and  may  yet 
bear,  might  well  feel  towards  the  tempter  and  the  temptation,  the  answer 
to  all  the  arguments  for  going  into  fusion  is  at  hand.  It  is  useless,  totally, 
for  all  the  objects  of  the  fusionist,  assuming  them  to  be  honest  and  con- 
stitutional,—  useless  and  prejudicial  to  those  objects;  and  it  is  fraught, 
moreover,  with  great  evil.  What  are  the  objects  of  the  fusionist  ?  To 
restore  the  violated  compromise,  or  if  he  cannot  effect  that,  to  secure  to 
the  inhabitants,  bo?id  fide  such,  of  the  new  territory  the  unforced  choice 
of  the  domestic  institutions  which  they  prefer,  a  choice  certain,  in  the  cir- 
cumstances of  that  country  now  or  soon  to  close  it  against  slavery  forever. 
These,  unless  he  courts  a  general  disturbance  and  the  revelry  of  civil 
"  battle  fields,"  are  his  object ;  and  when  he  shall  prove  that  fusion  will 
send  to  Congress  men  who  will  labor  with  more  zeal  and  more  effect  to 
these  ends  than  such  Whigs  as  Mr.  Walley  is,  or  as  Mr.  Rockwell  was,  — 
with  a  truer  devotion  to  liberty  —  more  obedient  to  the  general  sentiment 
and  the  specific  exactions  of  the  free  States  —  with  a  better  chance  to 
touch  the  reason  and  heart,  and  win  the  cooperation  of  good  men  in  all 
sections,  —  when  he  proves  this,  you  may  believe  him.  We  know  that 
the  Whig  representatives  of  Massachusetts  in  Congress  do  and  must 
completely  express  the  anti-slavery  sentiment  of  Massachusetts,  so  far  as 
they  may  be  expressed  under  the  Constitution.  More  than  this  we  do 
not  seek  to  express  while  thei'e  is  yet  a  Constitution.  Fusion  is  needless 
for  the  honest  objects  of  the  fusionist. 

"  But  the  evils  of  disbanding  such  a  party  as  ours  and  substituting 
such  a  party  as  that !  See  what  it  fails  to  do.  Here  is  a  new  and  gi-eat 
political  party,  which  is  to  govern,  if  it  can,  the  State  of  Massachusetts, 
and  to  govern,  if  it  can,  the  American  Union.  And  what  are  its  politics? 
It  has  none.  Who  knows  them  ?  Even  on  the  topic  of  slavery,  nobody 
knows,  that  I  am  aware  of,  what  in  certain  it  seeks  to  do,  or  how  much  or 
how  little  will  content  it.  Loud,  in  general  demonstration,  it  is  silent  or 
evasive  on  particular  details. 

"  But  outside  of  the  topic  of  slavery,  what  are  its  politics  ?  What,  in 
the  most  general  outline,  is  its  creed  of  national  or  State  policy  ?  How 
does  it  interpret  the  Constitution  ?  What  is  its  theory  of  State  rights  ? 
What  is  its  foreign  policy  ?  By  what  measures  ;  by  what  school  of  poli- 
ticians ;  by  what  laws  or  what  subjects  ;  by  what  diplomacy  ;  how,  gen- 
erally, does  it  propose  to  accomplish  that  good,  and  prevent  that  evil,  and 
to  provide  for  those  wants  for  which  States  are  formed  and  government 
established  ?  Does  it  know  ?  Does  it  tell  ?  Are  its  representatives  to 
go  to  Congress  or  the  Legislature,  to  speak  and  vote  on  slavery  only  ?  If 
not,  on  what  else,  and  on  which  side  of  it  ? 

"  A  party,  a  great  political  party,  without  politics,  is  a  novelty  indeed. 


1855-1858.]  LOVE    OF   THE   UNION.  gQl 

Before  the  people  of  this  country  or  State  enable  it  to  rule  them,  they  will 
desire,  I  fancy,  a  little  more  information  on  these  subjects.  We  all,  or 
almost  all,  of  the  Fi'ee  States  who  recognize  the  Constitution,  think  on 
slavery  substantially  alike.  Before  we  make  men  Presidents  and  Gov- 
ernors and  Senators  and  Judges  and  Di[)lomatists,  we  demand  to  see 
what  else  besides  cheap,  easy,  unavoidable  confox'mity  to  the  sectional 
faith  on  that  one  topic,  they  can  show  for  themselves. 

"  We  elect  them  not  to  deliver  written  lectures  to  assenting  audiences 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  —  to  kindle  the  inflammable,  and  exasperate 
the  angry,  —  but  to  perform  the  duties  of  practical  statesmanship  in  the 
most  complicated  and  delicate  political  system,  and  the  hardest  to  admin- 
ister in  the  world.  Let  us,  at  least,  then,  know  their  politics.  Kept  totally 
in  the  dark  about  these,  we  do  know  that  this  party  of  fusion  is,  in  the 
truest  of  all  senses,  and  the  worst  of  all  senses,  a  geographical  party. 
What  argument  against  it  can  we  add  to  this  ?  Such  a  party,  like  war, 
is  to  be  made  when  it  is  necessary.  If  it  is  not  necessary,  it  is  like  war 
too,  a  tremendous  and  uncompensated  eviL  When  it  shall  have  become 
necessary,  the  eternal  separation  will  have  begun.  That  time,  that  end, 
is  not  yet.  Let  us  not  hasten,  and  not  anticipate  it,  by  so  rash  an  innova- 
tion as  this. 

"  Parties  in  this  country  heretofore  have  helped,  not  delayed,  the  slow 
and  difHcult  growth  of  a  consummated  nationality.  Our  discussions  have 
been  sharp ;  the  contest  for  honor  and  power,  keen ;  the  disputes  about 
principles  and  measures,  hot  and  prolonged.  But  it  Avas  in  our  country's 
majestic  presence  that  we  contended.  It  was  from  her  hand  that  we 
solicited  the  prize.  Whoever  lost  or  won,  we  loved  her  better.  Our 
allies  were  everywhere.  There  were  no  Alleghanies  nor  Mississippi 
rivers  in  our  politics. 

"  Such  was  the  felicity  of  our  condition,  that  the  very  dissensions 
which  rent  small  republics  in  twain,  welded  and  compacted  the  vast  fabric 
of  our  own.  Does  he  who  would  substitute  for  this  form  of  conducting 
our  civil  differences  a  geographical  party,  completely  understand  his  own 
work?  Does  he  consider  how  vast  an  educational  instrumentality  the 
party  life  and  influence  compose?  Does  he  forget  how  the  public  opinion 
of  a  people  is  created,  and  that  when  ci-eated  it  determines  their  history  ? 
All  party  organization  tends  towards  faction.  This  is  its  evil.  But  it  is 
inseparable  from  free  governments.  To  choose  his  political  connection 
aright  is  the  most  delicate  and  difficult  duty  of  the  citizen.  We  have 
made  our  choice,  and  we  abide  by  it.  We  Join  ourselves  to  no  party  that 
does  not  carry  the  Jlag  and  keep  step  to  the  music  of  the  Union. 
"  I  am,  gentlemen,  your  fellow-citizen, 

"  RuFus   Choate." 

During  the  election  contest  a  large  meeting-  of  the  Whigs 
of  Boston  and  its  vicinity  was  held  in  Faneuil  Hall.  It  was 
addressed,  among  others,  by  Mr.  Choate,  in  a  strain  of  lofty 
and  urgent  patriotism  such  as  has  seldom  been  heard  in  a 
State  election.  His  mind  soared  to  heights  from  which  it 
saw  not  the  temporary  interest  of  a  State  alone,  nor  the  sue- 


202  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

cess  of  this  or  that  candidate  for  honorable  office,  but  "  the 
giant  forms  of  empires  "  on  their  way  to  prosperity  or  ruin. 
How  deeply  his  mind  was  moved  is  attested  not  only  by  the 
speech  itself,  but  by  his  future  action.  The  election  was  not 
favorable  to  the  Whigs,  nor  yet  to  the  Republicans.  A  letter 
written  soon  afterwards  will  incidentally  show  the  means  by 
which  he  solaced  himself  under  defeat,  where  not  the  slightest 
personal  interest  was  at  stake,  and  what  were  still  his  hopes. 

To  Rev.  Chandler  Robbins. 

"Boston,  November  12,  1855. 

"  Dear  Sir,  —  Absence  from  the  city  since  Tuesday  has  prevented 
me  from  expressing  my  most  grateful,  my  warmest  thanks  for  your  note. 
In  the  circumstances  and  feelings  of  the  moment,  it  was  soothing  in  the 
highest  degree.  On  a  more  deliberate  reading,  and  less  on  personal 
reasons,  it  has  afforded  even  more  gratification.  We  are  the  most-  for- 
tunate of  the  nations,  and  owe  the  largest  debt  to  humanity,  with  the 
perfect  certainty  of  paying  it,  to  one  hundred  cents  on  the  dollar,  with 
interest,  and  in  the  natural  lifetime  of  the  State,  if  we  will  only  consent 
to  live  on,  and  obey  the  law  of  normal  growth.  And  yet  they  would 
enlist  what  they  call  the  moral  sentiment,  and  incite  us  to  immediate  or 
certain  national  self-murder.  I  rejoice  with  great  joy  that  such  distem- 
pered ethics  ai'e  disowned  of  a  teacher  of  religion  —  a  cultivated,  humane, 
and  just  man  ;  and  that  a  patriotism,  whose  first  care  is  for  the  Union  — 
'  being,  before  even  well-being  '  —  is  regarded  of  such  authority  as  high 
among  the  larger  virtues. 

"  I  may  be  permitted  to  say,  that  although  the  details  and  instruments 
are  less  satisfactory  than  could  have  been  wished,  the  election  is  a  real 
victory  of  intense  American  feeling,  in  which  even  you  may  have  pleas- 
ure. I  think  it  leaves  only  two  great  parties,  both  national  to  the 
cannon's  mouth,  in  the  field. 

"  Your  delightful  allusion  to  Mr.  Webster  excites  even  warmer  emo- 
tions. I  never  think  of  him  without  recalling  the  fine,  pathetic,  unfinished 
sentence  of  Burke,  in  reference  to  Lord  Keppel,  — '  On  that  day  I 
had  a  loss  in  Lord  Keppel ;  but  the  public  loss  of  him  in  this  awful 
crisis ! ' 

"  Yet  it  shall  not,  I  think,  be  the  generation  which  saw  him,  that  shall 
witness  the  overthrow  of  the  system  to  which  he  devoted  himself  with 
such  desperate  fidelity. 

"  I  am,  with  the  highest  regard,  your  obliged  humble  servant, 

"  RuFus  Choate." 

The  following  letter  refers  to  a  speech  made  at  a  dinner  on 
the  birth-day  of  Mr.  Webster,  where  Mr.  Everett  presided:  — 


*Ct^     ^*^  >^*->,, 


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1855-1858.]     LETTER    TO    HON.   EDWARD   EVERETT.  gQS 

To  Hon.  Edward  Everett. 

"  Saturday  eve,  January  19,  1856. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Everett,  —  It  signifies  nothing  what  I  say  in  all  this 
din  and  tempest  of  applause  ;  but  I  believe  that  nobody  is  more  sincerely 
glad  at  your  most  signal  success,  and  I  know  that  nobody  has  read  you 
with  more  delight.  It  was  only  within  an  hour  or  two  that  I  was  so  well 
as  to  do  this  carefully,  though  I  heard  it  all  read  early  in  the  day.  Our 
mighty  friend  himself,  and  even  the  nature  that  he  so  loved,  come  mended 
—  say  rather,  show  clearer  and  nearer,  like  those  headlands  in  the 
Homeric  moonlight  landscape.  I  most  heartily  thank  you  for  presiding ; 
it  has  won  or  confirmed  many  hearts ;  and  I  can  never  cease  to  regret 
that  I  could  not  have  seen  and  heard  what  all  felt  to  be  an  effort  of  ex- 
traordinary felicity.         I  am,  very  truly,  your  servant  and  friend, 

"  RuFus  Choate." 

Boston  has  long  been  noted  for  its  popular  lectures.  Mr. 
Choate  was  frequently  solicited  to  occupy  an  evening  of  the 
prescribed  course ;  and  notwithstanding  the  pressure  of  other 
engagements,  often  did  so.  He  generally  availed  himself  of 
some  recent  noteworthy  event,  civil  or  literary,  which  served 
to  suggest  the  eloquent  and  wise  discourse.  On  the  ISth  of 
March,  1856,  he  closed  the  series  of  lectures  before  the  Mer- 
cantile Library  Association,  by  an  address  on  "  Our  Obliga- 
tions to  the  British  Poets  of  the  first  twenty  years  of  this 
Century."  The  theme  was  a  favorite  one,  and  carried  him 
back  to  college  days  and  his  earlier  life.  The  lecture  was  an- 
nounced, for  brevity  and  convenience,  as  upon  Samuel  Rogers, 
whose  death  had  occurred  a  few  months  before,  although  that 
poet  was  but  one  among  many  whose  life  and  influence  were 
cursorily  noticed. 

"  I  appreciate  quite  well,"  he  said,  "  that  to  a  great  many 
of  you  this  once  resplendent  circle  is  a  little  out  of  the  fashion. 
Their  task  is  done,  you  say ;  their  song  hath  ceased.  .  .  .  You 
began  to  read  fine  writing,  verse  and  prose,  at  a  time  when 
other  names  had  gained,  or  were  gaining,  the  large  ear  of  the 
gentle  public,  .  .  .  when  Eugene  Aram,  or  Ernest  Maltrav- 
ers,  or  Vivian  Grey,  or  the  Pickwick  Papers,  had  begun  to 
elbow  Waverley,  the  Antiquary,  and  Ivanhoe,  off  the  table;  .  .  . 
after  the  '  last  new  poem  '  began  to  be  more  read  than  the 
matchless  Fourth  Canto  of  Childe  Harold,  ...  or  the  grand, 
melancholy,  and  immortal  Platonisms  and  Miltonisms  of  the 
Excursion.     So  much  the  worse  for  yourselves ! 


QQ4f  MEMOIR  OF  EUFUS   CHOATE.  Chap.  IX. 

"  But  if  there  be  any  in  this  assembly  of  the  age  of  fifty  or 
thereabout,  you  will  hold  a  different  theory.  You  will  look 
back  not  without  delight,  to  the  time,  say  from  1812  to  1820, 
when  this  brilliant  and  still  young  school  had  fairly  won  the 
general  voice,  —  to  that  time  when  exactly  as  taste,  fancy,  the 
emotions,  were  beginning  to  unfold  and  to  pronounce  them- 
selves, and  to  give  direction  to  your  solitary  and  voluntary 
reading;',  these  armed  flights  of  genius  came  streaming  from 
beyond  the  sea, — that  time  when  as  you  came  into  your  room 
from  a  college  recitation  in  which  you  had  been  badly  screwed 
in  the  eighth  proposition  on  the  Ellipse  in  Webber's  Conic 
Sections,  or  in  some  passage  of  Tacitus  in  an  edition  with  few 
notes  and  a  corrupt  text,  and  no  translation,  —  you  found  Rob 
Roy,  or  The  Astrologer,  or  The  Antiquary,  just  republished  and 
waiting  your  hands  uncut ;  —  when  being  asked  if  there  were 
anything  new,  the  bookseller  would  demurely  and  apologeti- 
cally say,  'No,  nothing  very  particular  ;  there  was  just  a  fourth 
Canto  of  Childe  Harold,  or  a  little  pamphlet  edition  of  Man- 
fred, or  a  thing  of  Rogers,  the  author  of  The  Pleasures  of 
Memory,  called  Human  Life,  or  Lines  of  Coleridge  on  a  view 
of  the  Alps  before  sunrise  in  the  vale  of  Chamouny,  or  The 
Excursion,  or  Corinne  or  Germany  of  Madame  de  Stael,  noth- 
ing else  I  believe.'  You  who  can  remember  this  will  sigh  and 
say, 

'  'T  was  a  light  that  ne'er  can  shine  again 
On  life's  dull  stream.' 

So  might  you  say,  whatever  their  worth  intrinsically ;  for  to 
you, — to  us, — read  in  the  age  of  admiration,  —  of  the  first 
pulse  of  the  emotions  beating  unwontedly,  —  associated  with 
college  contentions  and  friendships ;  the  walk  on  the  gleam- 
ing, Rhine-like,  riverside ;  the  seat  of  rock  and  moss  under 
the  pine  singing  of  Theocritus ;  with  all  fair  ideals  revelling 
in  the  soul  before 

'  The  trumpet  call  of  truth 
Pealed  on  the  idle  dreams  of  youth,' — 

to  you  they  had  a  spell  beyond  their  value  and  a  place  in 
your  culture  that  nothing  can  share." 

Of  them  all  —  that  constellation  of  brilliant  writers  —  no 
one  interested  Mr.  Choate  so  much  as  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
The  whole  lecture  is,  of  necessity,  somewhat  desultory;  but  one 


t«^\ 


1855-1858.]  LECTURE    ON   THE  POETS.  205 

cannot  well  pass  by  the  general  tribute  to  Scott,  and  the  brief 
defence  of  him  from  the  criticism  of  Mr.  Carlyle :  — 

"  And  now,  of  all  that  bright  circle,  whom  shall  we  say  we 
love  best^  Each  has  his  choice.  Our  own  moods  have  them. 
But  do  I  deceive  myself  in  supposing,  that  if  the  collective 
voice  of  all  who  speak  the  language  of  England  could  be 
gathered  by  ballot,  it  would  award  the  laurel  by  about  a  two 
thirds  majority  to  Walter  Scott,  —  to  the  prose  romance  of 
Scott  ?  Of  him,  no  one  knows  where  to  begin  or  end.  Con- 
sider first,  to  how  many  minds,  to  how  many  moods  of  mind, 
these  pages  give  the  pleasure  for  which  books  of  elegant 
literature  are  written.  To  enjoy  them,  you  need  be  in  no 
specific  and  induced  state  ;  you  need  not  be  gloomy,  hating, 
pursued  by  a  fury,  a  sorrow,  a  remorse,  or  chasing  a  pale 
visionary  phantom  of  love  and  hope,  as  you  must  to  read 
Byron ;  you  need  not  be  smitten  with  a  turn  to  mysticism  and 
the  transcendental  and  the  Platonic,  as  you  must  be  to  relish  a 
great  deal  of  W'ordsworth  ;  you  need  not  feel  any  special  pas- 
sion, nor  acknowledge  any  very  pronounced  vocation,  for  re- 
forming school-houses  and  alms-houses,  for  shortening  the 
hours  and  raising  the  wages  of  weavers'  labor,  for  pulling 
down  the  aristocracy,  the  offices  and  Court  of  Chancery,  and 
reconstructing  society  in  general,  as  you  must  to  enjoy  very 
much  even  of  our  excellent  Dickens.  You  need  only  to  be  a 
man  or  woman,  with  a  love  of  reading  and  snatching  your 
chances  in  the  interstitial  spaces  of  life's  idle  business  to  in- 
dulge it,  and  that  is  all.  And  why  so  ?  Because  that  genius 
was  so  healthful  as  well  as  so  large  and  strong,  because  that 
humanity  was  so  comprehensive,  because  that  capacity  was  so 
universal, — that  survey  of  life  so  wide  and  thorough, — that 
knowledge  of  man  in  his  general  nature  as  well  as  in  his  par- 
ticular, so  deep  and  true  !  Therefore  it  is,  he  gives  you  what 
Homer  gives,  what  Shakspeare  gives, —  not  crotchets,  not  de- 
formities, not  abnormal  and  exceptional  things  or  states,  not 
intensities,  extravagancies,  and  spasms  ;  but  he  gives  you  an 
apocalypse  of  life,  from  its  sublimest  moments  to  its  minutest 
manners,  such  as  never  was  communicated  but  by  two  other 
human  imaginations.  In  that  panorama  of  course,  as  in  the 
mighty,  complicated,  and  many-colored  original  of  nature  and 
history,  there  are  all  sorts  of  things,  the  jester,  the  humorist, 

VOL.  I.  18 


OQQ  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

the  apparition  from  the  dead,  even  as  there  is  the  clown  grave- 
digger  in  Hamlet,  the  fool  in  Lear,  the  drunken  porter  in 
Macbeth,  Thersites  in  the  Iliad  ;  but  they  are  in  proportion 
and  place.  The  final  aggregate  of  impression  is  true.  You 
have  not  read  that  particular  chapter  in  the  great  Book  of  Life 
before ;  but  you  recognize  it  in  a  moment ;  you  learn  from  it. 
These  men  and  women  you  had  not  known  by  name ;  you  see 
them  tried  by  imaginary  and  romantic  circumstances  certainly, 
but  they  reveal  and  illustrate  and  glorify  the  genuine  humanity 
which  you  know  to  be  such  at  its  best ;  courage,  honor,  love, 
truth,  principle,  duty ;  tried  on  high  places  and  on  low ;  in  the 
hour  of  battle ;  in  the  slow  approach  of  death  ;  in  bereave- 
ment ;  in  joy ;  in  all  that  varied  eventful  ebb  and  flow  that 
makes  life. 

"This  is  the  reason, — one  reason, — why  so  many  more,  in 
so  many  more  moods,  love  /mn,  than  any  other  one  in  that  splen- 
did companionship.  True  it  is  no  doubt,  that  even  above  the 
sound  of  a  universal  and  instant  popularity,  there  is  a  charm 
beyond.  There  is  a  twofold  charm  beyond.  They  are,  first, 
the  prose  romances  of  a  poet ;  not  the  downright  prose  of 
Smollett,  of  Defoe,  and  of  Fielding,  nor  the  pathetic  prose  of 
Richardson,  nor  the  brilliant  and  elegant  prose  of  Edgeworth, 
or  Hope  in  Anastasius.  They  sparkle  and  burn  with  that 
element,  impossible  to  counterfeit,  impossible  to  destroy,  —  a 
genuine  poetry.  Sometimes  the  whole  novel  is  a  poem.  Who 
does  not  feel  this  in  every  page  of  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor  ? 
The  story  is  simple,  its  incidents  are  few ;  yet  how  like  a  trag- 
edy, brooded  over  by  Destiny,  it  sweeps  on,  from  that  disturbed 
funeral  of  old  Lord  Ravens  wood, — the  procession  interrupted 
— the  father  on  the  bier  —  the  mourning  child  by  his  side,  out- 
raged under  the  very  arches  of  the  house  of  death — that  deep 
paleness  of  the  cheek  of  the  young  son  revealing  how  the  agony 
of  his  sorrow  masters  for  a  space  the  vehemence  of  his  burning 
resentment, — that  awful  oath  of  revenge  against  the  house  of 
his  future  affianced  bride; — how  it  sweeps  on,  from  this  burial 
service  presided  over  by  doom,  through  those  unutterable  ago- 
nies of  two  hearts,  to  the  successive  and  appalling  death  scenes; 
how  every  incident  and  appendage  swells  the  dark  and  swift 
tide  of  destiny;  how  highly  wrought — how  vivid — how  spon- 
taneous in  metaphor,  is  every  scene  and  dialogue ;  to  what  fer- 


1855-1858.]  LECTURE    ON   THE   POETS.  20^ 

vor  and  exaltation  of  mind  —  to  what  keen  susceptibility  of 
emotion  —  to  how  towering  and  perturbed  a  mood  of  imagina- 
tion, all  the  dramatis  personw  seem  elevated !  In  the  same 
sense  in  which  the  CEdipus  or  the  Agamemnon  is  a  tragic 
poem,  so  is  this;  and  the  glorious  music  of  the  opera,  is  scarcely- 
passionate  and  mournful  enough  to  relieve  the  over-burthened 
and  over-wrought  heart  and  imagination  of  the  reader. 

"  And  when  the  whole  romance  is  not  a  poem  in  its  nature, 
in  model,  as  Waverley,  the  Antiquary  and  the  Astrologer  and 
Kenilworth  and  Ivanhoe  are  not,  how  does  the  element  of 
poetry  yet  blend  and  revel  in  it !  In  what  other  prose 
romances  of  any  literature,  in  how  many  romances  in  verse, 
do  you  find  pictures  of  scenery  so  bold,  just,  and  free,  —  such 
judgment  in  choosing,  and  enthusiasm  in  feeling,  and  energy 
in  sketching,  an  unequalled  landscape,  identified  by  its  own 
incommunicable  beauty  and  grandeur  I  Where  else  but  in 
the  finest  of  tragedies  do  you  find  the  persons  of  the  scene 
brought  together  and  interacting  in  speech  and  figure  so  full 
of  life,  —  the  life  of  a  real  presence,  —  the  life  flashing  from  the 
eye,  trembling  in  the  tones  of  voice,  shaking  the  strong  man's 
frame,  speaking  in  the  eloquent  face  \  Who  has  sketched 
the  single  combat,  the  shock  of  ancient  and  modern  battle, 
the  assault,  the  repulse,  the  final  storm,  like  him  \  Recall 
that  contest  with  night,  ocean,  and  tempest,  in  which  Sir 
Arthur  and  Isabella  are  rescued  in  the  Antiquary;  and 
contrast  that  other  also  in  the  Antiquary,  the  fisherman's 
funeral,  —  the  bier  of  the  young  man  drowned  —  the  pas- 
sionate, natural,  sobs  of  the  mother — the  sullen  and  fierce  grief 
of  the  father,  shaking  in  its  energy  the  bed  beneath  whose 
canopy  he  had  hidden  his  face  —  the  old  grandmother,  linking 
by  a  strange  tie,  the  guilt,  the  punishment  of  the  proud  House 
of  Glenallan,  to  this  agony  of  humble  life.  Over  what  other 
prose  volumes  do  you  find  strewn  broadcast  with  the  prodigal- 
ity of  a  happy  nature,  so  much  simile  and  metaphor,  —  the 
vocabulary, — the  pearls,  gems,  and  coral  of  the  language, — 
and  the  thoughts  of  poetry  %  What  would  you  think  to  come, 
in  Fielding  or  Smollett  or  Richardson  or  Defoe,  on  such  a  pas- 
sage as  this:  '  It  is  my  Leicester!  It  is  my  noble  Earl !  It  is 
my  Dudley !  Every  stroke  of  his  horse's  hoof  sounds  like  a 
note  of  lordly  music ! '     Or  this  :   '  Major  Bridgenorth  glided 


g08  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

along  this  formal  society  with  noiseless  step,  and  a  composed 
severity  of  manner  resembling-  their  own.  He  paused  before 
each  in  succession,  and  apparently  communicated,  as  he  pass- 
ed, the  transactions  of  the  evening',  and  the  circumstances  under 
which  the  heir  of  Martindale  Castle  was  now  a  guest  of  Moul- 
trassie  Hall.  Each  seemed  to  stir  at  his  brief  detail,  like  a 
range  of  statues  in  an  enchanted  hall,  starting  into  something 
like  life  as  a  talisman  is  applied  to  them  successively.' 

"  I  know,  too,  what  interest  and  what  value  their  historical 
element  gives  to  these  fictions.  Like  all  this  class  of  fic- 
tion in  all  literature,  their  theme  is  domestic  life,  and  nature 
under  the  aspects  of  domestic  life.  But  his  is  domestic  life  on 
which  there  streams  the  mighty  influence  of  a  great  historical 
conjuncture.  That  interest  indescribable  which  attaches  ever 
to  a  people  and  a  time  over  which  dark  care,  an  urgent  peril, 
a  vast  apprehension  is  brooding  ;  a  crisis  of  war,  of  revolu- 
tion, of  revolt,  —  that  interest  is  spread  on  all  things,  the 
minutest  incident,  —  the  humblest  sufferer,  —  the  conversa- 
tions of  boors  on  the  road  or  at  the  ale-house ;  everything 
little  or  high  is  illustrative  and  representative.  The  pulses  of 
a  sublime  national  movement  beat  through  the  universal  human 
nature  of  the  drama.  The  great  tides  of  historical  and  public  ex- 
istence flow  there  and  ebb,  and  all  things  rise  and  fall  on  those 
resistless  forces.  The  light  of  the  castle  stormed  and  on  fire 
streams  in  through  the  open  door  of  some  smallest  cottager; 
and  lovers  are  kept  asunder  by  a  war  of  succession  to  thrones. 

"  To  one  of  his  detractors,  let  me  say  one  word. 

"  It  has  pleased  Mr.  Thomas  Carlyle  to  record  of  these 
novels,  —  '  The  sick  heart  will  find  no  healing'  here,  the 
darkly  struggling  heart  no  guidance,  the  heroic  that  is  in  all 
men  no  divine,  awakening  voice.'  These  be  sonorous  words 
assuredly.  In  one  sense  I  am  afraid  that  is  true  of  any 
and  all  mere  romantic  literature.  As  disparagement  of  Scott 
it  is  a  simple  absurdity  of  injustice.  In  any  adequate  sense 
of  these  expressions.  Homer  and  Shakspeare  must  answer, 
'  These  are  not  mine  to  give.'  To  heal  that  sickness,  to  pour 
that  light  on  that  gloom,  to  awaken  that  sleep  of  greatness  in 
the  soul  in  the  highest  sense,  far  other  provision  is  demanded, 
and  is  given.  In  the  old,  old  time,  —  Hebrew,  Pagan, — 
some  found  it  in  the  very  voice  of  God  ;    some  in  the  visits  of 


1855-1858.]  LECTURE    ON    THE   POETS.  209 

the  angel ;  some  in  a  pilgrimage  to  the  beautiful  Jerusalem  ; 
some  in  the  message  of  the  Prophet,  till  that  succession  had 
its  close  ;  some  souglit  it  rather  thai!  found  it,  like  Socrates, 
like  Plato,  like  Cicero,  like  Cato,  in  the  thoughts  of  their  own 
and  other  mighty  minds  turned  to  the  direct  search  of  truth, 
in  the  philosophy  of  speculation,  in  the  philosophy  of  duty,  in 
the  practice  of  public  life.  To  us  only,  and  at  last,  is  given 
the  true  light.  For  us  only  is  the  great  Physician  provided. 
In  our  ears,  in  theirs  whose  testimony  we  assuredly  believe, 
the  divine  awakening  voice  has  been  articulately  and  first 
spoken.  In  this  sense,  what  he  says  would  be  true  of  Homer, 
Shakspeare,  Dante,  Milton  ;  but  no  more  true  of  Scott  than 
of  Goethe  or  Schiller.  Neither  is,  or  gives,  religion  to  the 
soul,  if  it  is  that  of  which  he  speaks.  But  if  this  is  not  his 
meaning,  — and  I  suppose  it  is  not, —  if  he  means  to  say  that 
by  the  same  general  treatment,  by  the  same  form  of  suffering 
humanity,  by  which  Homer,  Virgil,  Dante,  Shakspeare  heal 
the  sick  heart,  give  light  to  the  darkened  eye,  and  guidance  to 
blundering  feet,  and  kindle  the  heroic  in  man  to  life,  —  if  he 
means  to  say  that  as  they  have  done  it  he  has  not  in  kind,  in 
supreme  degree,  —  let  the  millions  whose  hours  of  unrest,  an- 
guish, and  fear  he  has  charmed  away,  to  the  darkness  of 
whose  desponding  he  has  given  light,  to  whose  sentiments 
of  honor,  duty,  courage,  truth,  manliness,  he  has  given  help  — 
let  them  gather  round  the  Capitol  and  answer  for  themselves 
and  him.  I  am  afraid  that  that  Delphic  and  glorious  Madame 
de  Stael,  knew  sickness  of  the  heart  in  a  sense  and  with  a 
depth  too  true  only ;  and  she  had,  with  other  consolation,  the 
fisherman's  funeral  in  the  Antiquary  read  to  her  on  her  death- 
bed ;  as  Charles  Fox  had  the  kindred  but  unequal  sketches  of 
Crabbe's  Village  read  on  his. 

"  And  so  of  this  complaint,  that  the  heroic  in  man  finds  here 
no  divine,  awakening  voice.  If  by  this  heroic  in  man  he 
means  what  —  assuming  religious  traits  out  of  the  question 
—  we  who  speak  the  tongue  of  England  and  hold  the  ethics 
of  Plato,  of  Cicero,  of  Jeremy  Taylor  and  Edmund  Burke, 
should  understand,  —  religion  now  out  of  the  question,  — 
that  sense  of  obligation,  pursuing  us  ever,  omnipresent  like 
the  Deity,  ever  proclaiming  that  the  duties  of  life  are  more 
than  life,  —  that  principle  of  honor  that  feels  a  stain  like  a 

18* 


210  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

wound,  —  that  courage  that  fears  God  and  knows  no  other 
fear,  that  dares  do  all  that  may  become  a  man,  —  truth  on 
the  lips  and  in  the  inward  parts,  —  that  love  of  our  own  na- 
tive land,  comprehensive  and  full  love,  the  absence  of  which 
makes  even  the  superb  art-world  of  Goethe  dreamy  and  epi- 
curean, —  manliness,  equal  to  all  offices  of  war  or  peace, 
above  jealousy,  above  injustice,  —  if  this  is  the  heroic,  and 
if  by  the  divine  awakening  voice  he  meant  that  artistic  and 
hterary  culture  fitted  to  develop  and  train  this  quality,  —  that 
voice  is  Scott's. 

"  I  will  not  compare  him  with  Carlyle's  Goethe  or  even 
Schiller,  or  any  other  idol  on  the  Olympus  of  his  worship ; 
that  were  flippant  and  indecorous,  nor  within  my  comj)etence. 
But  who  and  where,  in  any  literature,  in  any  walk  of  genius, 
has  sketched  a  character,  imagined  a  situation,  conceived  an 
austerity  of  glorified  suffering,  better  adapted  to  awaken  all  of 
the  heroic  in  man  or  woman,  that  it  is  fit  to  awaken,  than  Re- 
becca in  act  to  leap  from  the  dizzy  verge  of  the  parapet  of  the 
Castle  to  escape  the  Templar,  or  awaiting  the  bitterness  of 
death  in  the  list  of  Templestowe  and  rejecting  the  champion- 
ship of  her  admirer'? — or  than  Jeanie  Deans  refusing  an  un- 
truth to  save  her  innocent  sister's  life  and  then  walking  to 
London  to  plead  for  her  before  the  Queen,  —  and  so  pleading? 
— than  Macbriar  in  that  group  of  Covenanters  in  Old  Mortal- 
ity in  presence  of  the  Privy  Council,  confessing  for  himself, 
whom  terror,  whom  torture,  could  not  move  to  the  betrayal  of 
another  ;  accepting  sentence  of  death,  after  anguish  unimagin- 
able, his  face  radiant  with  joy;  a  trial  of  manhood  and  trust, 
a  sublimity  of  trial,  a  manifestation  of  the  heroic  to  which  the 
self-sacrifice  of  a  Leonidas  and  his  three  hundred  was  but  a 
wild  and  glad  revelry, — a  march  to  the  'Dorian  music  of  flutes 
and  soft  recorders,' — a  crowning,  after  the  holiday  contention 
of  the  games,  with  all  of  glory  a  Greek  could  covet  or  con- 
ceive. 

"  I  rode  in  the  August  of  1850,  with  a  friend  and  kinsmati, 
now  dead,  from  Abbotsford  to  Dryburgh,  from  the  home  to 
the  grave  of  Walter  Scott.  We  asked  the  driver  if  he  knew 
on  which  side  of  the  Tweed  the  funeral  procession,  a  mile  in 
length,  went  down.  He  did  not  know.  But  what  signified 
it '?     Our  way  lay  along  its  south  bank.      On   our  right,  rose 


1855-1858.]        LETTER   TO   WM.  M.  EVARTS,  ESQ.  ^H 

the  three  peaks  of  the  cloven  summit  of  Eildon ;  fair  Mel- 
rose, ill  its  gray  ruin,  immortal  as  his  song-,  the  Tweed,  whose 
murmur  came  in  on  his  ear  when  he  was  dying,  were  on  our 
left ;  the  Scotland  of  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  bathed  in 
the  mild  harvest  sunlight,  was  around  us ;  and  when  we  came 
within  that  wide  inclosure  at  the  Abbey  of  Dryburgh,  in 
which  they  have  laid  him  down,  we  could  then  feel  how  truly 
that  deep  sob,  which  is  said  to  have  burst  in  that  moment 
from  a  thousand  lips,  was  but  predictive  and  symbolical  of 
the  mourning  of  mute  Nature  for  her  worshipper ;  of  Scotland 
for  the  crown  of  her  glory ;  of  the  millions  of  long  genera- 
tions for  their  companion  and  their  benefactor." 

The  year  1856  was  a  year  of  political  excitement.  The 
Democratic  party  nominated  Mr.  Buchanan  for  the  Presidency, 
and  the  Repubhcans,  Col.  Fremont ;  still  another  party,  com- 
posed of  those  who  called  themselves  "  Americans,"  had  nom- 
inated Mr.  Fillmore.  Mr.  Choate  did  not  entirely  sympathize 
with  either  of  these  parties,  and  for  some  time  was  in  doubt 
what  position  to  take.  To  be  neutral  he  thought  unbecoming, 
when  great  interests  seemed  to  be  at  stake,  nor  was  he  willing 
to  throw  away  his  influence  where  there  was  no  chance  of  suc- 
cess, especially  where  his  convictions  did  not  impel  him  to  act. 
He  meditated  long  and  anxiously,  taking  counsel  of  none,  be- 
cause he  determined  to  act  independently.  A  separation  from 
old  friends,  even  temporarily,  gave  him  real  sorrow,  yet  to 
follow  any  party  founded  on  geographical  principles,  or  which 
would  divide  the  States  by  a  geographical  line,  seemed  to  him, 
not  only  repugnant  to  the  counsels  of  Washington  and  the 
fathers  of  the  Republic,  but  so  unstatesmanlike  and  danger- 
ous that  he  could  not  regard  it  with  favor.  A  letter  to  Mr. 
Evarts,  of  New  York,  who  had  recently  made  a  speech  in 
favor  of  the  Republican  party,  indicates  this  feeling. 

To  Wm.  M,  Evarts,  Esq. 

"  Dear  ]\Ir.  Evarts,  —  I  thank  you  for  your  courtesy  in  the  trans- 
mitting of  the  speech.  I  had  read  it  before,  and  for  that  matter,  there 
has  been  notliing  else  in  my  papers  since,  except  the  proceedings  in  the 
matter  of  poor  Hoffman.  Both  —  the  political  and  the  eulogistic  —  are 
excellent.  To  say  that  I  see  my  way  clear  to  act  with  you  were  prema- 
ture.    Blessings  are  bought  with  a  price.     "We  may  pay  too  high  for  good 


QIQ  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

sentiments  and  desirable  policy.  I  hate  some  of  your  associates  and  rec- 
ognize no  necessity  at  all  for  a  Presidential  campaign  on  platforms  less 
broad  than  the  whole  area.  .  .  .  Most  truly  yours, 

"R.  Choate." 

The  first  distinct  intimation  that  he  gave  of  his  probable 
political  course,  was  in  a  note  to  Mr.  Everett.  It  was  little 
more  than  a  conjecture,  however,  hardly  a  declaration  of  a  fixed 
purpose  ;  yet  he  was  not  timid  in  declaring  his  opinions  when 
fully  formed  and  the  occasion  demanded  it,  and  in  his  letter  to 
the  Whigs  of  Maine,  dated  the  9th  of  August,  he  unhesitat- 
ingly affirmed  his  position.  This  letter  was  in  answer  to  an 
urgent  request  from  the  Whig  State  Committee  to  address  the 
people  at  a  mass  meeting  in  Waterville. 

To  E.  W.  Farley  and  other  gentlemen  of  the  Maine  Whig  State  Central 
Committee. 

"  Boston,  Aug.  9,  1856. 

"  Gentlemen,  —  Upon  my  return  last  evening,  after  a  short  absence 
from  the  city,  I  found  your  letter  of  the  30th  ult.,  inviting  me  to  take  part 
in  the  proceedings  of  the  Whigs  of  Maine,  assembled  in  mass  meeting, 

"  I  appreciate  most  highly  the  honor  and  kindness  of  this  invitation, 
and  should  have  had  true  pleasure  in  accepting  it.  The  Whigs  of  Maine 
composed  at  all  times  so  important  a  division  of  the  great  national  party, 
which,  under  that  name,  with  or  without  official  power,  as  a  responsible 
administration,  or  as  only  an  organized  opinion,  has  done  so  much  for  our 
country,  —  our  whole  country, —  and  your  responsibilities  at  this  moment 
are  so  vast  and  peculiar,  that  I  acknowledge  an  anxiety  to  see  —  not  wait 
to  hear — with  what  noble  bearing  you  meet  the  demands  of  the  time. 
If  the  tried  legions,  to  whom  it  is  committed  to  guard  the  frontier  of  the 
Union,  falter  now,  who,  anywhere,  can  be  trusted  ? 

"  My  engagements,  however,  and  the  necessity  or  expediency  of  ab- 
staining from  all  speech  requiring  much  effort,  will  prevent  ray  being 
with  you.  And  yet,  invited  to  share  in  your  counsels,  and  grateful  for 
such  distinction,  I  cannot  wholly  decline  to  declare  my  own  opinions  on 
one  of  the  duties  of  the  Whigs,  in  what  you  well  describe  as  '  the  present 
ci'isis  in  the  political  affairs  of  the  country.'  I  cannot  now,  and  need  not, 
pause  to  elaborate  or  defend  them.  What  I  think,  and  what  I  have  de- 
cided to  do,  permit  me  in  the  briefest  and  plainest  expression  to  tell  you. 

"  The  first  duty,  then,  of  Whigs,  not  merely  as  patriots  and  as  citizens, 
—  loving,  with  a  large  and  equal  love  our  whole  native  land,  —  but  as 
Whigs,  and  because  we  are  Whigs,  is  to  unite  with  some  organization  of 
our  countrymen,  to  defeat  and  dissolve  the  new  geographical  party,  call- 
ing itself  Republican.  This  is  our  first  duty.  It  would  more  exactly 
express  my  opinion  to  say  that  at  this  moment  it  is  our  only  duty. 
Certainly,  at  least,  it  comprehends  and  suspends  all  others  ;  and  in  my 
judgment,  the  question  for  each  and  every  one  of  us  is,  not  whether  this 


1855-1858.]     LETTER  TO  THE  MAINE  WHIG  COMMITTEE.     213 

candidate  or  that  candidate  would  be  our  first  choice,  — not  whether  thei'e 
is  some  good  talk  in  the  worst  platform,  and  some  bad  talk  in  the  best 
platform, —  not  whether  this  man's  ambition,  or  that  man's  servility  or 
boldness  or  fanaticism  or  violence,  is  responsible  for  putting  the  wild 
waters  in  this  uproar  ;  —  but  just  this,  —  by  what  vote  can  I  do  most  to 
prevent  the  madness  of  the  times  from  working  its  maddest  act,  —  the 
very  ecstasy  of  its  madness,  —  the  permanent  formation  and  the  actual 
present  triumph  of  a  party  which  knows  one  half  of  America  only  to  hate 
and  dread  it,  —  from  whose  unconsecrated  and  revolutionary  banner  fifteen 
stars  are  erased  or  have  fallen,  —  in  whose  national  anthem  the  old  and 
endeared  airs  of  the  Eutaw  Springs  and  the  King's  Mountain  and  York- 
town,  and  those,  later,  of  JNew  Orleans  and  Buena  Vista  and  Chapulte- 
pec,  breathe  no  moi"e.  To  this  duty,  to  this  question,  all  others  seem  to 
me  to  stand  for  the  present  postponed  and  secondaiy. 

"  And  why  ?  Because,  according  to  our  creed,  it  is  only  the  united 
America  which  can  peacefully,  gradually,  safely,  improve,  lift  up,  and 
bless,  with  all  social  and  personal  and  civil  blessings,  all  the  races  and  all 
the  conditions  which  compose  our  vast  and  various  family,  —  it  is  such  an 
America,  only,  whose  arm  can  guard  our  flag,  develop  our  resources,  ex- 
tend our  trade,  and  fill  the  measure  of  our  glory;  and  because,  accord- 
ing to  our  convictions,  the  triumph  of  such  a  party  puts  the  Union  in 
dangei'.  That  is  my  reason.  And  for  you  and  for  me  and  for  all  of  us, 
in  whose  regards  the  Union  possesses  such  a  value,  and  to  whose  fears  it 
seems  menaced  by  such  a  danger,  it  is  reason  enough.  Believing  the 
noble  Ship  of  State  to  be  within  a  half  cable's  length  of  a  lee  shoi'e  of 
rock,  in  a  gale  of  wind,  our  first  business  is  to  put  her  about,  and  crowd 
her  off  into  the  deep,  open  sea.  That  done,  we  can  regulate  the  stowage 
of  her  lower  tier  of  pow^der,  and  select  her  cruising  ground,  and  bring 
her  officers  to  court-martial  at  our  leisure. 

"  If  there  are  any  in  Maine  —  and  among  the  Whigs  of  Maine  I  hope 
there  is  not  one  —  but  if  there  are  any,  in  whose  hearts  strong  passions, 
vaulting  ambition,  jealousy  of  men  or  sections,  unreasoning  and  impatient 
philanthropy,  or  whatever  else  have  turned  to  hate  or  coldness  the  fra- 
ternal blood  and  quenched  the  spirit  of  national  life  at  its  source,  —  with 
whom  the  union  of  slave  States  and  free  States  under  the  actual  Consti- 
tution is  a  curse,  a  hindrance,  a  reproach,  —  with  those  of  course  our  view 
of  our  duty  and  the  reason  of  it,  are  a  stumbHng  block  and  foolishness. 
To  such  you  can  have  nothing  to  say,  and  from  such  you  can  have  noth- 
ing to  hope.  But  if  there  are  those  again  who  love  the  Union  as  we  love 
it,  and  prize  it  as  we  prize  it,  —  who  regard  it  as  we  do,  not  merely  as  a 
vast  instrumentality  for  the  protection  of  our  commerce  and  navigation, 
and  for  achieving  jiower,  eminence  and  name  among  the  sovereigns  of 
the  earth,  but  as  a  means  of  improving  the  material  lot,  and  elevating  the 
moral  and  mental  nature  and  insuring  the  personal  happiness  of  the  mil- 
lions of  many  distant  generations,  —  if  there  are  those  who  think  thus  justly 
of  it,  and  yet  hug  the  fatal  delusion  that,  because  it  is  good,  it  is  neces- 
sarily immortal,  that  it  will  thrive  without  care,  that  anything  created 
by  a  man's  will  is  above  or  stronger  than  his  will,  that  because  the  rea- 
son and  virtues  of  our  age  of  reason  and  virtue  could  build  it,  the  passions 
and  stimulations  of  a  day  of  frenzy  cannot  pull  it  down  ;  —  if  such  there 


214<  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

are  among  you,  to  them  address  yourselves  with  all  the  earnestness  and 
all  the  eloquence  of  men  who  feel  that  some  greater  interest  is  at  stake, 
and  some  mightier  cause  in  hearing,  than  ever  yet  tongue  has  pleaded  or 
trumpet  proclaimed.  If  such  minds  and  hearts  are  reached,  all  is  safe. 
But  liow  specious  and  how  manifold  are  the  sophisms  by  which  they  are 
courted  ! 

"  They  hear  and  they  read  much  ridicule  of  those  who  fear  that  a  geo- 
graphical party  does  endanger  the  Union.  But  can  they  forget  that  our 
greatest,  wisest,  and  most  hopeful  statesmen  have  always  felt,  and  have 
all,  in  one  form  or  another,  left  on  record  their  own  fear  of  such  a  party  ? 
The  judgments  of  Washington,  Madison,  Clay,  Webster,  on  the  dangers 
of  the  American  Union  —  are  they  worth  nothing  to  a  conscientious  love 
of  it  ?  What  they  dreaded  as  a  remote  and  improbable  contingency  — 
that  against  which  they  cautioned,  as  they  thought,  distant  genei-alions 
—  that  which  they  were  so  happy  as  to  die  without  seeing  —  is  upon  us. 
And  yet  some  men  would  have  us  sro  on  launrhins;  and  singing;,  like  the 
traveller  in  the  satire,  with  his  pockets  empty,  at  a  present  peril,  the  mere 
apprehension  of  which,  as  a  distant  aud  bare  possibility,  could  sadden  the 
heart  of  the  Father  of  his  Country,  and  dictate  the  grave  and  grand 
warning  of  the  Farewell  Address. 

"  They  hear  men  say  that  such  a  party  ought  not  to  endanger  the 
Union  ;  that,  although  it  happened  to  be  formed  within  one  geographical 
section,  and  confined  exclusively  to  it,  —  although  its  end  and  aim  is  to 
rally  that  section  against  the  other  on  a  question  of  morals,  policy,  and 
feehng,  on  which  the  two  ditfer  eternally  and  unappeasably,  —  although, 
from  the  nature  of  its  origin  and  objects,  no  man  in  the  section  outside 
can  possibly  join  it,  or  accept  office  under  it,  without  infamy  at  home,  — 
although,  therefore,  it  is  a  stupendous  organization,  practically  to  take 
power  and  honor,  and  a  full  share  of  the  government,  from  our  whole 
family  of  States,  and  bestow  them,  substantially,  all  upon  the  antagonist 
family,  — although  the  doctrines  of  human  rights,  which  it  gathers  out  of 
the  Declaration  of  Independence  —  that  passionate  and  eloquent  manifesto 
of  a  revolutionary  war  —  and  adopts  as  its  fundamental  ideas,  announce 
to  any  Southern  apprehension  a  crusade  of  the  government  against  slav- 
ery, far  without  and  beyond  Kansas,  —  although  the  spirit  and  tendency 
of  its  electioneering  appeals,  as  a  whole,  in  prose  and  verse,  the  leading 
articles  of  its  papers,  and  the  speeches  of  its  orators,  are  to  excite  con- 
tempt and  hate,  or  fear,  of  one  entire  geographical  section,  and  hate  or 
dread  or  contempt  is  the  natural  impression  it  all  leaves  on  the  Northern 
mind  and  heart ;  yet  that  nobody  anywhere  ought  to  be  angry,  or  ought 
to  be  frightened  ;  that  the  majority  must  govern,  and  that  the  North  is  a 
majority  ;  that  it  is  ten  to  one  nothing  will  happen  ;  that,  if  worst  comes 
to  worst,  the  South  knows  it  is  wholly  to  blame,  and  needs  the  Union 
more  than  we  do,  and  will  be  quiet  accordingly. 

"  But  do  they  who  hold  this  language  forget  that  the  question  is  not 
what  ought  to  endanger  the  Union,  but  what  will  do  it  ?  Is  it  man  as  he 
ougiit  to  be,  or  man  as  he  is,  that  we  must  live  with  or  live  alone  ?  In 
appreciating  tiie  influences  which  may  disturb  a  political  system,  and 
especially  one  like  ours,  do  you  make  no  allowance  for  passions,  for  pride, 
for  infirmity,  for  the  burning  sense  of  even  imaginary  wrong  ?     Do  you 


1855-1858.]     LETTER  TO  THE  MAINE  WHIG  COMMITTEE.     Ql^ 

assume  that  all  men,  or  all  masses  of  men  in  all  sections,  uniformly  obey 
reason  ;  and  uniformly  wisely  see  and  calmly  seek  their  true  interests  ? 
Where  on  earth  is  such  a  fool's  Paradise  as  that  to  be  found  ?  Conced- 
ing to  the  people  of  the  fifteen  States  the  ordinary  and  average  human 
nature,  its  good  and  its  evil,  its  weakness  and  its  strength,  I,  for  one,  dare 
not  say  that  the  triumph  of  such  a  party  ought  not  to  be  expected  natu- 
rally and  probably  to  disunite  the  States.  With  my  undoubting  convic- 
tions, I  know  that  it  would  be  folly  and  immorality  in  men  to  wish  it. 
Certainly  there  are  in  all  sections  and  in  all  States  those  who  love  the 
Union,  under  the  actual  Constitution,  as  Washington  did,  as  Jay,  Hamil- 
ton, and  Madison  did  ;  as  Jackson,  as  Clay,  as  Webster  loved  it.  Such 
even  is  the  hereditary  and  the  habitual  sentiment  of  the  general  Ameri- 
can heart.  But  he  has  read  life  and  books  to  little  purpose  who  has  not 
learned  that  '  bosom  friendships  '  may  be  '  to  resentment  soured,'  and  that 
no  hatred  is  so  keen,  deep,  and  precious  as  that. 

'  And  to  be  wroth  with  one  we  love 
Will  work  like  madness  in  the  brain.' 

He  has  read  the  book  of  our  history  to  still  less  purpose,  who  has  not 
learned  that  the  friendships  of  these  States,  sisters  but  rivals,  sovereigns 
each,  with  a  public  life,  and  a  body  of  interests,  and  sources  of  honor  and 
shame  of  its  own  and  within  itself,  distributed  into  two  great  opposing 
groups,  are  of  all  human  ties  most  exposed  to  such  rupture  and  such 
transformation. 

"  I  have  not  time  in  these  hasty  lines,  and  there  is  no  need,  to  specu- 
late on  the  details  of  the  modes  in  which  the  triumph  of  this  party  would 
do  its  work  of  evil.  Its  mere  struggle  to  obtain  the  government,  as  that 
struggle  is  conducted,  is  mischievous  to  an  extent  incalculable.  That 
thousands  of  the  good  men  who  have  joined  it  deplore  this  is  certain,  but 
that  does  not  mend  the  matter.  I  appeal  to  the  conscience  and  honor  of 
my  country  that  if  it  were  the  aim  of  a  great  party,  by  every  species  of 
access  to  the  popular  mind,  —  by  eloquence,  by  argument,  by  taunt,  by 
sarcasm,  by  recrimination,  by  appeals  to  pride,  shame,  and  natural  right,  — 
to  prepare  the  nation  for  a  struggle  with  Spain  or  England  or  Austria, 
it  could  not  do  its  business  more  thoroughly.  Many  persons,  many 
speakers,  —  many,  very  many,  set  a  higher  and  wiser  example  ;  but  the 
work  is  doing. 

"  If  it  accomplishes  its  objects  and  gives  the  government  to  the  North, 
I  turn  my  eyes  from  the  consequences.  To  the  fifteen  States  of  the 
South  that  government  will  appear  an  alien  government.  It  will  appear 
worse.  It  will  appear  a  hostile  government.  It  will  represent  to  their 
eye  a  vast  region  of  States  organized  upon  anti-slavery,  flushed  by  tri- 
umph, cheered  onward  by  the  voices  of  the  pulpit,  tribune,  and  press ;  its 
mission  to  inaugurate  freedom  and  put  down  the  oligarchy  ;  its  constitu- 
tion the  glittering  and  sounding  generalities  of  natural  right  which  make 
up  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  And  then  and  thus  is  the  begin- 
ning of  the  end. 

"  If  a  necessity  could  be  made  out  for  such  a  party  we  might  submit  to 
it  as  to  other  unavoidable  evil,  and  other  certain  danger.  But  where  do 
they  find  that  ?    Where  do  they  pretend  to  find  it  ?    Is  it  to  keep  slavery 


<216  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

out  of  the  territories  ?  There  is  not  one  but  Kansas  in  which  slavery  is 
possible.  No  man  fears,  no  man  hopes,  for  slavery  in  Utah,  New  Mexico, 
Washington,  or  Minnesota.  A  national  party  to  give  them  freedom  is 
about  as  needful  and  about  as  feasible  as  a  national  party  to  keep  Maine 
for  freedom.  And  Kansas  !  Let  that  abused  and  profaned  soil  have 
calm  within  its  borders  ;  deliver  it  over  to  the  natural  law  of  peaceful 
and  spontaneous  immigration  ;  take  off  the  ruffian  hands ;  strike  down 
the  rifle  and  the  bowie-knife  ;  guard  its  strenuous  infancy  and  youth  till 
it  comes  of  age  to  choose  for  itself,  —  and  it  will  choose  freedom  for  itself, 
and  it  will  have  forever  what  it  chooses. 

"  When  this  policy,  so  easy,  simple,  and  just,  is  tried  and  fails,  it  will 
be  time  enough  to  resort  to  revolution.  It  is  in  part  because  the  duty  of 
protection  to  the  local  settler  was  not  performed,  that  the  Democratic  party 
has  already  by  the  action  of  its  great  representative  Convention  resolved 
to  put  out  of  office  its  own  administration.  That  lesson  will  not  and  must 
not  be  lost  on  anybody.  The  country  demands  that  Congress,  before  it 
adjourns,  give  that  territory  peace.  If  it  do,  time  will  inevitably  give  it 
freedom. 

"  I  have  hastily  and  imperfectly  expressed  my  opinion  through  the  un- 
satisfactory forms  of  a  letter,  as  to  the  immediate  duty  of  Whigs.  We 
are  to  do  what  we  can  to  defeat  and  disband  the  geographical  party. 
But  by  what  specific  action  we  can  most  effectually  contribute  to  such  a 
result  is  a  question  of  more  difficulty.  It  seems  now  to  be  settled  that 
we  present  no  candidate  of  our  own.  If  we  vote  at  all,  then,  we  vote  for 
the  nominees  of  the  American  or  the  nominees  of  the  Democratic  party. 
As  between  them  I  shall  not  venture  to  counsel  the  Whigs  of  Maine,  but 
I  deem  it  due  to  frankness  and  honor  to  say,  that  while  I  entertain  a  high 
appreciation  of  the  character  and  ability  of  Mr.  Fillmoi*e,  I  do  not  sym- 
pathize in  any  degree  with  the  objects  and  creed  of  the  particular  party 
that  nominated  him,  and  do  not  approve  of  their  organization  and  their 
tactics.  Practically  too,  the  contest  in  my  judgment  is  between  Mr. 
Buchanan  and  Col.  Fremont.  In  these  circumstances,  I  vote  for  Mr. 
Buchanan.  He  has  large  experience  in  public  affairs ;  his  commanding 
capacity  is  universally  acknowledged  ;  his  life  is  without  a  stain.  I  am 
constrained  to  add  that  he  seems  at  this  moment,  by  the  concurrence  of 
circumstances,  more  completely  than  any  other,  to  represent  that  senti- 
ment of  nationality,  —  tolerant,  warm,  and  comprehensive,  —  without 
which,  without  increase  of  which,  America  is  no  longer  America ;  and  to 
possess  the  power  and  I  trust  the  disposition  to  restoi'e  and  keep  that 
peace,  within  our  borders,  and  without,  for  which  our  hearts  all  yearn, 
which  all  our  interests  demand,  through  which  and  by  which  alone  we 
may  hope  to  grow  to  the  true  greatness  of  nations. 
"  Very  respectfully, 

"  Your  fellow-citizen, 

"  KuFus  Choate." 

This  letter  was  no  sooner  published  than  solicitations  came, 
almost  without  number,  to  take  part  in  the  political  campaign. 
Committees  from  New  York  and  Philadelphia  urged  him  with 


1855-1858.]  ADDRESS   AT   LOWELL.  ^V^ 

an  importunity  which  it  was  very  difficult  to  resist.  He  de- 
termined at  last  to  make  one  speech,  and  but  one.  He  chose 
the  place,  Lowell,  —  an  important  manufacturing  city  in  Mid- 
dlesex County,  the  county  which  holds  Bunker  Hill  and  Lex- 
ino-ton.  An  immense  crowd  assembled  to  hear  him  on  the 
28th  of  October.  It  was  an  unwonted  and  hard  thing  for 
him  to  leave,  even  for  a  time,  those  with  whom  he  had  always 
been  politically  associated,  and  join  those  whom  he  had  always 
opposed.  If  ever  one  were  controlled  by  a  high  sense  of  pub- 
lic duty,  he  certainly  was  in  that  difficult  step.  He  sought 
neither  honor,  nor  office,  nor  emolument ;  nothing  but  the 
greater  safety  and  welfare  of  the  country  could  repay  him. 
There  was  a  tone  of  deprecation  in  some  parts  of  the  speech 
which  marked  his  deep  feeling.  "  Certainly,"  he  said,  "  some- 
what there  is  in  the  position  of  all  of  us  a  little  trying.  Ties 
of  years  which  knit  some  of  us  together  are  broken.  Cold 
regards  are  turned  on  us,  and  bitter  language,  and  slander 
cruel  as  the  grave,  is  ours. 

'  I  cannot  but  remember  such  things  were, 
That  were  most  precious  to  me.' 

You  have  decided,  Fellpw- Whigs,  that  you  can  best  contribute 
to  the  grand  end  we  all  seek,  by  a  vote  for  Mr.  Fillmore.  I, 
a  Whig  all  my  life,  a  Whig  in  all  things,  and  as  regards  all 
other  names,  a  Whig  to-day,  have  thought  I  could  discharge 
my  duty  most  efiectually  by  voting  for  Mr.  Buchanan  and 
Mr.  Breckinridge  ;  and  I  shall  do  it.  The  justice  I  am  but 
too  happy  in  rendering  you,  will  you  deny  to  me  ?  In  doing 
this  I  neither  join  the  Democratic  party,  nor  retract  any 
opinion  on  the  details  of  its  policy,  nor  acquit  it  of  its  share 

of  blame  in  bring^insf  on  the  aoitations  of  the  hour 

There  never  was  an  election  contest  that,  in  denouncing-  the 
particulars  of  its  policy,  I  did  not  admit  that  the  characteris- 
tic of  the  Democratic  party  was  this,  that  it  had  burned  ever 
with  the  great  master-passion  this  hour  demands,  —  a  youth- 
ful, veliement,  exultant,  and  progressive  nationality.  Through 
some  errors,  into  some  perils,  it  has  been  led  by  it ;  it  may  be 
so  again  ;  we  may  require  to  temper  and  restrain  it;  but  to- 
day we  need  it  all,  we  need  it  all !  the  hopes,  the  boasts,  the 
pride,  the  universal  tolerance,  the  gay  and  festive  defiance  of 
foreign  dictation,  the  flag,  the  music,  all  the  emotions,  all  the 

VOL.   I.  19 


j21g  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE,  [Chap.  IX. 

traits,  all  the  energies,  that  have  won  their  victories  of  war, 
and  their  miracles  of  national  advancement,  —  the  country 
needs  them  all  now,  to  win  a  victory  of  peace.  That  done, 
I  will  pass  again,  happy  and  content,  into  that  minority  of 
conservatism  in  which  I  have  passed  my  life." 

The  meeting  had  assembled  in  the  largest  hall  in  the  city, 
which  was  densely  packed.      It  was  estimated  that  from  four 
to   five  thousand  persons  were  present.      The   committee   of 
arrangements,  with  the  orator,  could  wdth  great  difficulty  force 
their  way  to  the  platform.     The  meeting  was  soon  organized, 
and  the  president  had   hardly  begun  to  make  a  preliminary 
address,  when  a  dull,  heavy  sound  like  a  distant  cannon  was 
heard,   and    the    floor   evidently   yielded.       A    general    fright 
seemed  to  pervade  the  audience,  which  was  assuaged  only  by 
assurances  of  safety,  and  that  an  examination  of  the  su])ports 
of  the  building   should  at  once  be  made  by  an  experienced 
architect.      The  agitation  having  subsided,  Mr.   Choate  rose 
and  was  hailed  with  a  storm  of  applause,  such  as  even  he  had 
rarely  heard  before.     He  proceeded  for  nearly  half  an  hour, 
when  again  that  ominous  sound  was  heard,  and  the  floor  was 
felt  sinking  as  before.      Mr.  Choate  paused,  and  the  fear  of 
the  crowd  was  partially  quieted  a  second  time  by  an  assurance 
of  an  immediate  inspection  of  the  building,  and  if  it  should 
not  be  found  safe,  an  adjournment  to  some  other  place.     The 
architect  who  first  went  to  examine  the  supports  had  not  come 
back.     General  Butler,  who  was  presiding,  said  that  he  would 
go  and  ascertain  the  condition  of  things,  and  return  and  report. 
He  went,  and  to  his  horror  found  that  several  of  the  rods  by 
which  the  floor  was  sustained  had  drawn  through  the  timbers, 
that  the  ceiling  below  was  opening,  and  that  the  slightest  move- 
ment or  demonstration  of  applause  would  be  likely  to  bring 
the  floor,  the  roof,  and  probably  the  walls,  to  the  ground,  with 
a  destruction  of  life  too  awful  to  think  of.     Comprehending 
all  the  peril,  he  forced  his  way  in  again  through  the  crowd, 
till  he  reached  the  platform,  and  then  calmly  addressing  the 
audience  told  them  that  though  there  might  be  no  immediate 
danger,  as  they  had  been  interrupted   twice   and  some  were 
timid,  it  would  be  best  quietly  and  without  haste  to  leave  the 
hall.     '  This  is  the  place  of  greatest  danger,'  he  said,  '  and  I 
shall  stand  here  till  all  have  gone  out.'     The  hall  was  at  once 


1855-1858.]      LETTER   TO   JOHN  CARROLL   WALSH.  gJQ 

cleared,  those  on  the  platform  g"oing-  last ;  and  it  Is  said  that  as 
they  were  walking  out  the  floor  again  sprung  for  an  inch  or 
two.  Not  till  all  were  safe,  did  they  understand  the  imminent 
peril  in  which  they  had  been  ;  how  near  to  a  catastrophe,  to 
which  that  of  the  Pemberton  Mill  might  have  been  a  mercy. 
The  crowd  soon  forgot  the  danger,  and  were  so  eager  for  the 
continuance  of  the  speech,  that  Mr.  Choate,  who  had  retired 
to  the  hotel,  and  was  suffering  from  an  incipient  illness, 
addressed  the  assembled  masses  for  some  time  from  a  plat- 
form hastily  erected  in  front  of  one  of  the  windows. 

It  was  natural  that  his  determination  to  vote  for  Mr. 
Buchanan  should  be  regarded  with  sorrow  by  those  with 
whom  he  had  always  been  associated,  and,  perhaps  not  very 
surprising,  that  he  should  have  received  anonymous  letters 
filled  with  abuse  and  threats,  some  of  them  frightful  in  their 
malignity.  After  the  election,  it  was  intimated  to  him,  that 
any  honorable  position  under  the  government,  that  he  might 
desire,  would  be  at  his  disposal.  But  he  was  determined  to 
receive  nothing,  nor  allow  the  remotest  suspicion  to  attach  to 
his  motives.  Some  doubted  the  necessity  or  the  wisdom  of 
his  course ;  but  none  wdio  knew  him  distrusted  the  depth  and 
sincerity  of  his  convictions,  or  the  immaculate  purity  of  his 
patriotism.  Misjudgment  and  censure  he  expected  to  receive, 
but  charges  of  mercenary  or  malignant  motives  he  could  not 
overlook.  Such  having  been  brought  to  his  notice  as  made  in 
Maryland,  he  replied  to  his  informant  by  the  following  letter : 

To  John  Carroll  Walsh,  Harford  Co.,  Maryland. 

"Boston,  Sept.  15,  1856. 

"  Dear  Sir,  —  Your  letter  informing  me  that  Mr.  Davis  asserted  in 
a  public  speech  that  the  secret  of  my  opposition  to  Mr.  Fillmore  was 
disappointment,  created  by  not  receiving  from  him  an  otfice  which  I 
sought  and  desired,  was  received  a  little  out  of  time.  I  thank  you  for 
affording  me  an  opportunity  to  answer,  at  the  first  moment  of  hearing  it, 
a  statement  so  groundless  and  so  unjust.  There  is  not  a  particle  of  truth 
in  it,  nor  is  there  anything  to  color  or  to  suggest  his  informant's  false- 
hood. I  authorize  and  request  you,  if  you  attach  any  importance  to  the 
matter,  to  give  it  the  most  absolute  and  comprehensive  denial.  I  never 
sought  an  office  fi'om  Mr.  Fillmore  directly  or  indirectly,  and  never 
requested  or  authorized  any  other  person  to  do  so  for  me,  and  never 
believed  for  a  moment,  or  suspected,  and  do  not  now  believe  or  suspect, 
that  any  one  has  done  so,  or  has  even  mentioned  ray  name  to  him  in 
connection  with  an  office.     Mr.  Fillmore  never  had  a  place  in  his  gifl 


220  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

which  I  desired,  or  which  I  could  have  afforded  to  accept,  even  if  I  had 
thought  myself  competent  to  fill  it,  or  for  which  I  could,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, have  exchanged  the  indispensable  labor  of  my  profession. 
Personal  complaint  of  Mr.  Fillmore  I  have  not  the  slightest  reason  to 
make  ;  and  he  who  thinks  it  worth  his  while  to  conjecture  why  I  shall 
not  vote  for  him,  must  accept  from  me,  or  fabricate  for  himself,  a  different 
explanation. 

"  With  great  regard,  your  servant  and  fellow-citizen, 

"  RUFUS   ClIOATE." 

The  key  to  Mr.  Choate's  public  life,  especially  his  later  life, 
may  be  found  in  two  grand  motives  :  the  first,  his  strong 
American  feeling  ;  the  second,  his  love  of  the  Union.  The 
former  led  him  to  sustain  the  country,  its  institutions,  and 
public  policy,  as  distinguished  from  those  of  the  Old  World. 
The  latter  made  him  as  careful  of  the  rights,  as  respectful  to 
the  feelings,  the  sentiments,  the  habits,  of  the  South  as  of  the 
North,  of  the  West  as  of  the  East.  He  felt  that  sufticient 
time  had  not  yet  elapsed  thoroughly  to  prove  the  power  and 
virtues  of  the  Republic,  or  suggest  an  adequate  remedy  for  its 
defects.  He  felt  that  to  perpetuate  a  government  strong  but 
liberal  —  considerate  of  every  interest  and  oppressive  of  none 
—  requires  great  breadth  and  intensity  of  patriotism,  much 
forbearance  of  sectional  ignorance  and  prejudice,  a  concili- 
atory and  just  spirit,  a  large  prudence,  and  a  liberal  regard 
to  wants  and  interests  as  diverse  as  the  races  which  march 
under  the  one  national  banner,  and  profess  allegiance  to  a 
common  government,  or  the  productions  and  pursuits  of  our 
various  climate  and  soil.  The  State  he  loved,  as  one  would 
love  a  father.  The  faults  of  the  State  he  would  not  make 
the  ground  of  party  exultation,  or  parade  them  for  universal, 
indiscriminate,  and  barren  censure,  lint  would  rather  shun,  and 
if  possible  cure,  or  at  least  cover  with  a  filial  sorrow, —  dicti- 
tans,  domestica  mala  trisUtia  operienda.  He  shared  largely 
the  fears  of  the  wisest  and  most  far-sighted  statesmen,  but  still 
trusted  that  under  a  magnanimous  public  policy,  time  would 
more  completely  consolidate  the  races  and  States,  evils  would 
be  gradually  corrected,  and  the  spirit  of  nationality  —  deeply 
imbedded  in  the  aflf'ections  and  interests — would  rise  supreme 
over  every  local  ambition  or  sectional  scheme. 

Mr.  Choate's  position  was  now  such  as  any  one  might 
envy.     As  a  statesman,  his  ideas  and  policy  had  nothing  nar- 


1855-1858.]  HIS   LIBRARY.  QQl 

row  or  sectional.  They  embraced  the  welfare  of  the  whole 
country,  and  of  every  part  of  it.  He  was  identified  with 
whatever  in  patriotism  was  most  generous  and  unselfish.  In 
his  profession  he  had  won  the  love,  as  well  as  the  admiration, 
of  his  brethren.  He  stood  at  the  head  of  the  New  England 
Bar  ;  nor  was  there  in  the  country  an  advocate  whose  well- 
earned  reputation  surpassed  his.  Too  liberal  to  acquire  an 
ample  fortune,  he  had,  nevertheless,  secured  a  competence. 
His  family  was  still  almost  unbroken.  Two  of  his  daughters 
were  married,^  and  lived  very  near  him.  His  residence  and 
his  library  had  been  every  year  growing  more  and  more  to  his 
mind.  His  library  had  always  been  an  object  of  special  in- 
terest. On  moving  into  his  house  in  Winthrop  Place,  it  filled 
a  front  chamber  directly  over  the  parlor.  Soon  overflowing, 
it  swept  away  the  partition  between  that  and  a  small  room 
over  the  front  entry.  Then,  accumulating  still  more  rapidly, 
it  burst  all  barriers  and  filled  the  whole  second  story.  A 
friend  visiting  him  one  day,  asked  how  he  contrived  to  gain 
from  Mrs.  C.  so  large  a  part  of  the  house.  "  Oh,"  said  he, 
in  a  most  delightfully  jocular  tone,  "by  fighting  for  it."  It 
was  indeed  a  charming  retreat.  Every  wall,  in  all  the  ir- 
regularities of  the  room,  filled  with  crowded  bookcases,  with 
here  and  there  choice  engravings  and  pictures  in  unoccupied 
places,  or  on  frames  arranged  expressly  to  hold  them  ;  with 
tables,  desks,  luxurious  chairs,  and  lounges,  — all  for  use  and 
nothing  for  show,  though  elegant,  —  all  warm,  familiar,  and 
inviting.  His  library  was  rich  in  English  literature  and  learn- 
ing in  all  its  branches,  and  in  choice  editions  of  the  classics ; 
well,  though  not  amply,  provided  with  modern  foreign  lit- 
erature ;  and  thoroughly  stocked  with  all  the  apparatus  of 
dictionaries,  gazetteers,  and  maps,  which  a  scholar  constantly 
needs.  It  numbered,  at  the  time  of  his  death,  about  seven 
thousand  volumes.  His  law  library,  it  may  be  here  stated, 
consisted  of  about  three  thousand  volumes,  and,  I  am  informed 
by  those  familiar  with  it,  was  one  of  the  best  professional 
libraries  in  the  State. 

The  next  two  years  of  Mr.  Choate's  life  were  diversified 
by  little  besides  the  ordinary  varieties  of  his  profession.      In 

1  His  eldest  daughter  to  Joseph  M.  Bell,  Esq. ;  and  his  youngest  to  Edward 
Ellerton  Pratt,  Esq. 

19* 


222  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

February,  1857,  ^le  delivered  before  tbe  Mechanic  Appren- 
tices' Library  Association  a  lecture  on  the  "  Eloquence  of 
Kevolutionary  Periods,"  in  which  he  dwelt  especially  on  De- 
mosthenes and  Cicero.  It  is  full  of  high  thoughts,  and  raises 
one  by  its  beauty  and  magnanimity.  Its  eloquent  defence  of 
Cicero  was  harshly  criticised,  —  one  hardly  knows  why, — 
by  some  who  accept  the  later  theories  of  Cicero's  life  ;  but 
was  received  with  rare  satisfaction  by  the  lovers  of  the  pa- 
triotic Roman,  —  nearly  the  most  eloquent  of  the  Ancients. 

In  May  of  the  same  year  he  made  his  powerful  and 
successful  defence  of  Mrs.  Dalton,  This  case  excited  great 
interest  from  the  respectability  of  the  parties,  from  the  circum- 
stances which  preceded  the  trial,  as  well  as  from  the  great 
ability  of  the  advocates  on  both  sides.-^  Its  details,  however, 
true  or  false,  were  such  as  almost  of  necessity  to  exclude  it, 
and  the  argument  based  upon  it,  from  full  publication.  Short- 
ly after  his  marriage,  nearly  two  years  before,  Mr.  Dalton 
discovered  what  he  thought  an  improper  intimacy  between  his 
wife  and  a  young  man  by  the  name  of  Sumner.  As  a  result 
of  this,  Sumner  was  induced  to  go  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Co- 
burn,  (who  had  married  a  sister  of  Mrs.  Dalton,j  in  Shawmut 
Avenue,  where  he  was  confronted  with  Mrs.  Dalton,  was 
attacked  by  Dalton  and  Coburn,  beaten  and  driven  from  the 
premises.  He  went  home  to  Milton,  where  soon  after  he  was 
taken  sick  and  died.  The  story  found  its  way  into  the  news- 
papers, with  the  usual  exaggerations  and  inaccuracies.  The 
death  of  Sumner  increased  tbe  popular  excitement,  and  Dalton 
was  arrested  and  imprisoned  on  a  charge  of  murder.  After 
lying  in  jail  more  than  a  month,  the  grand  jury,  on  examin- 
ing the  case,  indicted  him  for  manslaughter,  and  for  assault 
and  battery.  On  the  former  charge  he  was  acquitted ;  to  the 
latter  he  plead  guilty  and  was  condemned  to  an  imprisonment 
of  five  months.  Soon  after  going  to  jail  on  this  sentence,  he 
filed  his  libel  for  a  divorce.  To  hear  such  a  cause  in  public 
before  a  jury,  was  a  doubtful  experiment,  tried  then  for  the 
first  time.  Day  after  day,  for  nearly  three  weeks,  the  court- 
room had  been  crowded  by  an  eager  and  curious  multitude, 
watching  tbe  parties  who  sat  within  the  bar  by  the  side  of 
their  respective  counsel ;  watching  every  movement  of  the 
eminent  advocates  as  they  would  the  players  of  a  great  game, 
1  R.  H.  Dana,  Jr.,  was  Mr.  Dalton's  counsel. 


1855-1858.]  DEFENCE   OF   MRS.   DALTON.  QQS 

and  intently  listening-  to  the  revelations  of  the  evidence.  Day 
by  day  the  larger  audience  of  the  public  had  been  both  stimu- 
lated and  sickened  by  the  startling,  contradictory,  scandalous 
and  disgusting  details  spread  wide  in  the  newspapers.  All 
were  waiting  witli  curiosity  and  interest,  and  some  with  in- 
tense anxiety,  for  the  result  of  the  trial,  which  at  length  drew 
to  a  close.  The  doors  were  no  sooner  opened  on  the  morning 
when  the  argument  was  expected,  than  the  court-room  was 
crowded  to  its  utmost  capacity.  While  waiting  for  the  judge 
to  take  his  seat,  much  merriment  was  caused  by  a  grave  an- 
nouncement from  the  sheriff"  that  the  second  jury,  which  had 
been  summoned  in  expectation  that  the  trial  would  be  ended, 
"  might  have  leave  to  withdraw."  As  this  was  at  the  moment 
when  expectation  was  at  the  highest,  and  chairs  were  at  a 
premium,  and  whoever  had  a  standing-place  felt  that  he  was  a 
fortunate  man,  the  effect  may  be  easily  imagined. 

Mr.  Choate  was  punctually  in  his  place  at  the  appointed 
time  ;  behind  and  near  him  sat  his  young  client  attended  by 
her  mother  and  sister.  Not  far  distant,  and  close  to  his  coun- 
sel, his  eye  turned  often  to  the  great  advocate  but  never  to 
her,  was  a  fair  and  pleasant  looking  young  man  —  the  hus- 
band suing  for  a  divorce  from  a  wife  charged  with  the  most 
serious  criminality.  Immediately  on  the  opening  of  the  court, 
Mr.  Choate  rose,  and,  after  briefly  referring  to  a  case  or  two 
in  a  law-book,  commenced  in  a  grave  and  quiet  manner  by 
congratulating  the  jury  on  apjwoaching,  at  least,  the  close  of 
a  duty  so  severe  and  so  painful  to  all.  He  then  in  a  few 
sentences,  with  a  felicity  which  has  seldom  been  equalled,  pro- 
fessed to  be  really  pleading  for  the  interests  of  both  parties. 

"  It  very  rarely  happens  indeed,  gentlemen,  in  the  trial 
of  a  civil  controversy,  that  both  parties  have  an  equal,  or 
however,  a  vast  interest,  that  one  of  them,  —  in  this  case 
the  defendant,  —  should  be  clearly  proved  to  be  entitled  to 
your  verdict.  Unusual  as  it  is,  such  is  now  the  view  of  the 
case  that  I  take  ;  such  a  one  is  the  trial  now  before  you.  To 
both  of  these  parties  it  is  of  supreme  importance,  in  the  view 
that  I  take  of  it,  that  you  should  find  this  young  wife,  err- 
ing, indiscreet,  imprudent,  forgetful  of  herself,  if  it  be  so, 
but  innocent  of  the  last  and  the  greatest  crime  of  a  married 
woman.     I  say,  to  both  parties  it  is  important.     I  cannot  deny, 


204f  MEMOIR  OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

of  course,  that  her  interest  in  such  a  result  is,  perhaps,  ihe 
greater  of  the  two.  For  her,  indeed,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say 
that  everything  is  staked  upon  the  result.  I  cannot,  of  course, 
hope,  1  cannot  say,  that  any  verdict  you  can  render  will  ever 
enable  her  to  recall  those  weeks  of  folly,  and  frivolity,  and 
vanity,  without  a  blush  —  without  a  tear ;  I  cannot  desire  that 
it  should  be  so.  But,  gentlemen,  whether  these  grave  and 
impressive  proceedings  shall  terminate  by  sending  this  young 
wife  from  your  presence  with  the  scarlet  letter  upon  her  brow ; 
whether  in  this  her  morning  of  life,  her  name  shall  be  thus  pub- 
licly stricken  from  the  roll  of  virtuous  women,  —  her  whole 
future  darkened  by  dishonor,  and  waylaid  by  temptation,  —  her 
companions  driven  from  her  side, — herself  cast  out,  it  may  be, 
upon  qpmmon  society,  the  sport  of  libertines,  unassisted  by 
public  opinion,  or  sympathy,  or  self-respect,  —  this  certainly 
rests  with  you.  For  her,  therefore,  I  am  surely  warranted 
in  saying,  that  more  than  lier  life  is  at  stake.  '  Whatsoever 
things  are  honest,  whatsoever  things  are  pure,  whatsoever 
things  are  lovely,  whatsoever  things  are  of  good  report,  if 
there  be  any  virtue,  if  there  be  any  praise,'  all  the  chances 
that  are  to  be  left  her  in  life  for  winning  and  holding  these 
holy,  beautiful  and  needful  things,  rest  with  you 

"  But  is  there  not  another  person,  gentlemen,  interested  in 
these  proceedings  with  an  equal,  or  at  least  a  supreme,  interest 
with  the  respondent,  that  you  sliall  be  able  by  your  verdict  to 
say  that  Helen  Dalton  is  not  guilty  of  the  crime  of  adultery; 
and  is  not  that  person  her  husband  ?  ....  If  you  can  here 
and  now  on  this  evidence  acquit  your  consciences,  and  render 
a  verdict  that  shall  assure  this  husband  that  a  jury  of  Suffolk 
—  men  of  honor  and  spirit  —  some  of  them  his  personal 
friends,  believe  that  he  has  been  the  victim  of  a  cruel  and 
groundless  jealousy  ;  that  they  believe  that  he  has  been  led 
by  that  scandal  that  circulates  about  him,  and  has  influenced 
him  everywhere  ;  that  he  has  been  made  to  misconceive  the 
nature  and  over-estimate  the  extent  of  the  injury  his  wife  has 
done  him  ;  ....  if  you  can  thus  enable  him  to  see  that 
without  dishonor  he  may  again  take  her  to  his  bosom,  let  me 
ask  you  if  any  other  human  being  can  do  another  so  great  a 
kindness  as  this  V 

He  then  went  on  throughout  the  day,  with  a  general  state- 


1855-1858.]  DEFENCE    OF  MRS.    DALTON.  2^5 

ment  and  review  of  the  evidence,  so  as  to  conciliate  the  jury 
to  the  theory  of  culpable  indiscretion  indeed,  but  of  indiscre- 
tion consistent  after  all  with  innocence.  This  was  the  theme 
of  all  the  variations  of  that  music,  —  an  intimacy  light,  tran- 
sient, indiscreet,  foolish,  inexcusable,  wrong,  yet  not  carried 
to  the  last  crime,  —  consistent  still  with  devoted  love  for  her 
husband,  whom  "she  followed,  half  distracted,  to  the  jail, — 
hovering  about  that  cell, — a  beam  of  light,  a  dove  of  constant 
presence."  To  this  was  added  the  fact  that  after  most  of 
these  indiscretions  were  known  to  Dalton,  and  after  the  scene 
when  Sumner  was  assaulted  and  driven  from  the  house,  he 
still  loved,  cherished,  and  lived  with  her,  and  wrote  that  series 
of  letters  from  the  jail  "  so  beautiful,  so  manly,  one  long,  un- 
broken strain  of  music,  the  burthen  of  which  is  home,  sweet 
home ;  and  you,  my  loved  one,  my  fond  one,  —  dearer  and 
better  for  what  has  happened,  —  you  again  to  fill,  illumine, 
and  bless  it." 

These  thoughts  he  never  lost  sight  of  during  the  long  and 
varied  statement,  and  the  searching  examination  of  the  ev- 
idence, which  followed.  A  part  of  that  evidence  was  hard 
to  evade.  Tw^o  witnesses  had  sworn  to  a  confession,  or 
what  amounted  to  one,  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Dalton.  How 
their  evidence  and  characters  w^re  sifted,  no  one  can  forget 
who  heard,  nor  fail  to  understand,  who  reads.  They  crum- 
bled in  his  hand  like  clay.  Sometimes  with  the  gravest  de- 
nunciation and  sometimes  with  the  keenest  ridicule,  he  dem- 
onstrated the  improbabilities  and  impossibilities  of  the  testi- 
mony, till  all  felt  that  if  there  was  not  perjury  there  must  be 
mistake.  Seldom  has  a  witness  been  held  up  in  a  light  more 
irresistibly  ludicrous  than  John  H.  Coburn,  who  had  confessed 
to  making  false  representations  by  telegraphic  comnmnications 
and  otherwise,  in  order  to  excite  the  fear  of  Mr.  Gove,  the 
father  of  Mrs.  Dalton,  and  extort  from  him  money  and  cloth- 
ing (as  he  was  a  clothing  merchant).  "  He  found  out,"  said 
the  advocate,  "  that  Mr.  G  ove  was  extremely  exercised  by  the 
attack  upon  his  daughter,  '  and,'  says  he,  '  T  will  have  a  jacket 
and  trousers  out  of  this  business,  ■ —  I  see  pantaloons  there  ;  I 
will  have  a  game  of  billiards  and  a  suit  of  clothes,  or  I  am 
nobody !  '  '  The  house  was  convulsed  with  laughter  at  the 
ludicrous  picture.      At  the  same  time  he  was  most  careful  not 


Q2Q  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

to  carry  the  raillery  too  far.  "  I  am  bringing  him  up  to  the 
golden  tests  and  standards  by  which  the  law  weighs  proof,  or 
the  assayer  weighs  gold."  But  it  might  be  said  that  this  pro- 
ceeding of  Coburn  was  only  a  joke.  "  Practise  a  joke  under 
those  circumstances  ! "  said  the  advocate.  "  Is  this  the  charac- 
ter of  Coburn  ?  Why,  he  admitted  all  this  falsehood  on  the 
stand  in  such  a  winning",  ingenuous,  and  loving  way, — that  he 
was  a  great  rogue  and  liar,  and  had  been  everywhere,  —  that 
we  were  almost  attracted  to  him.  It  is,  therefore,  fit  and  proper 
we  should  know  that  this  winning  confession  of  Coburn  on 
the  stand  was  not  quite  so  voluntary  after  all.  This  Coburn, 
about  six  days  ago,  was  attacked  by  a  very  bad  erysipelas  in 
his  foot  or  ankle.  In  my  humble  judgment  it  was  an  ery- 
sipelas of  apprehension  about  coming  into  the  court-house  to 
testify  under  the  eye  of  the  court  and  jury.  But  he  was 
attacked ;  and  accordingly  we  sent  a  couple  of  eminent  phy- 
sicians —  Drs.  Dana  and  Durant  —  to  see  what  they  could 
do  for  him,  and  they  put  him  through  a  course  of  warm  water 
or  composition  powder,  or  one  thing  or  another,  till  they  cured 
the  erysipelas  beyond  all  doubt,  gentlemen.  They  cured  the 
patient,  but  they  killed  the  witness.  [Here  the  sheriff  had  to 
interfere  to  check  the  laughter.]  So  the  man  came  upon  the 
stand  and  admitted  he  sent  this  communication  by  telegraph, 
and  the  message  from  the  Parker  and  the  Tremont.  He 
swore  forty  times  very  deliberately  that  he  never  wrote  one 
of  them,  —  deliberately  and  repeatedly  over  and  over  again, 
—  and  it  was  not  till  my  friend,  the  Doctor  here,  had  turned 
the  screw  about  a  hundred  times  with  from  forty  to  fifty  in- 
terrogations, that  he  was  beaten  from  one  covert  into  another, 
until  at  last  he  was  obliged  to  confess  —  although  he  began 
with  most  peremptorily  denying  it  altogether  —  that  he  sent 
the  telegraph  and  wrote  the  forged  communication  from  the 
Tremont  and  the  Parker  House." 

So  the  stream  of  argument  and  raillery,  and  sarcasm  and 
pathos,  rolled  on  ample,  unchecked,  and  overwhelming,  for 
two  long  sunmier  days,  (no  one  in  the  throng  of  auditors 
restless  or  weary,)  and  drew  to  its  close  in  exquisite  quietness 
and  beauty.  "  I  leave  her  case,  therefore,"  said  the  advocate, 
as  if  repeating  the  refrain  of  a  hymn,  "  upon  this  statement, 
and  respectfully  submit  that  for  both  their  sakes  you  will  ren- 


y 


1855-1858.]  DEFENCE    OF   MRS.   DALTON.  ggy 

der  a  verdict  promptly  and  joyfully  in  favor  of  Helen  Dalton 

—  for  both  their  sakes.  There  is  a  future  for  them  both 
together,  gentlemen,  I  think.  But  if  that  be  not  so,  —  if  it 
be  that  this  matter  has  proceeded  so  far  that  her  husband's 
affections  have  been  alienated,  and  that  a  happy  life  in  her 
case  has  become  impracticable,  —  yet  for  all  that,  let  there 
be  no  divorce.  For  no  levity,  no  vanity,  no  indiscretion,  let 
there  be  a  divorce.  I  bring  to  your  minds  the  words  of  Him 
who  spake  as  never  man  spake  :  '  Whosoever  putteth  away 
his  wife  '  —  for  vanity,  for  coquetry,  for  levity,  for  flirtation 

—  whosoever  putteth  away  his  wife  for  anything  short  of 
adultery,  and  that  established  by  clear,  undoubted,  aud  cred- 
ible proof,  —  whosoever  does  it,  '  causeth  her  to  commit  adul- 
tery.' If  they  may  not  be  dismissed  then,  gentlemen,  to  live 
again  together,  for  her  sake  and  her  parents'  sake,  sustain 
her.  Give  her  back  to  self-respect,  and  the  assistance  of 
that  public  opinion  which  all  of  us  require." 

One  word  of  the  last  letter  of  the  wife  to  the  husband,  and 
a  single  echoing  sentence,  finished  this  remarkable  speech. 
"  '  Wishing  you  much  happiness  and  peace  with  much  love, 
if  you  will  accept  it,  I  remain,  your  wife.'  So  may  she  re- 
main until  that  one  of  them  to  whom  it  is  appointed  first  to 
die  shall  find  the  peace  of  the  grave  !  " 

The  mere  reading  of  this  argument  can  give  but  a  feeble 
idea  of  its  beauty  and  cogency  to  those  who  were  so  fortunate 
as  to  listen.  Oftentimes,  before  a  legal  tribunal,  the  cause  is 
greater  than  the  advocate.  He  rises  to  it,  and  is  upheld  by  it. 
But  sometimes  it  is  his  province  to  create  an  interest,  which 
the  subject  itself  does  not  afford ;  to  enliven  the  dull ;  to  dig- 
nify the  mean  ;  to  decorate  the  unseemly.  The  body  may  be 
vile,  but  he  arrays  it  in  purple  and  crowns  it  with  gems.  This 
case,  though  with  some  elements  of  unusual  character,  w^ould 
probably  have  fallen  to  the  dreary  level  of  similar  actions,  were 
it  not  lifted  and  enveloped  in  light  by  the  genius  of  the  advo- 
cate. It  is  like  some  of  those  which  made  Erskine  and  Cur- 
ran  famous ;  and  the  defence  shows  a  power  not  inferior  to 
theirs.  As  a  result  of  it,  the  jury  disagreed ;  the  divorce  was 
not  consummated  ;  and  it  is  understood  (as  if  to  make  the 
spirit  of  the  argument  prophetic)  that  the  parties  are  now  liv- 
ing together  in  harmony. 


022S  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

The  following  letters  need  no  explanation  :  — 

To  Hon.  Edward  Everett. 

"Boston,  30th  September,  1857. 
"My  dear  Sir,  —  I  was  sick  when  your  kindest  gift  of  the  Inaugura- 
tion Discourse  ^  was  brought  in,  and  akhough  able  to  read  it  instantly,  — 
for  I  was  not  dying,  —  it  is  only  now  that  I  have  become  able  to  thank 
you  for  your  courtesy,  and  to  express  the  exceeding  delight,  and,  as  it 
were,  triumph,  with  which  I  have  studied  this  most  noble  exposition  of 
the  good,  fair,  and  useful  of  the  high  things  of  knowledge.  To  have  said 
on  such  themes  what  is  new  and  yet  true,  in  words  so  exact  as  well  as 
pictured  and  burning,  and  in  a  spirit  so  fresh  and  exulting,  and  yet  wise, 
sober,  and  tender,  was,  I  should  have  thought,  almost  impossible  even  for 
you.  I  wonder  as  much  as  I  love,  and  am  pi'oud  for  you  on  the  double 
tie  of  friendship  and  of  country. 

"  I  remain,  with  greatest  regard,  your  servant  and  friend, 

"  RuFus  Choate." 

To  Hon.  Edward  Everett. 

"  Winthrop  Place,  17th  November,  1857. 

"Mt  dear  Sir,  —  I  was  not  aware  of  that  hiatus,  and  I  made  an 
exchange  of  my  21  vols,  for  a  set  extending  over  a  longer  period,  and 
containing  30  vols,  or  more.  I  have  found  no  defect  that  I  remember. 
I  beg  you  to  supply  your  immediate  wants  from  this  one,  if  it  is  not  just 
as  bad. 

"  Thei'e  is  a  certain  gloomy  and  dangerous  sense  in  which  I  am  '  grat- 
ified.' But  '  renown  and  grace  '  —  where  are  they  ?  Such  a  series  of 
papers  as  you  hint  at  would  '  bless  mankind,  and  rescue '  Mr.  Buchanan. 
I  entreat  you  to  give  him  and  all  conservative  men  an  idea  of  a  patriot 
administration.  Kansas  must  be  free  — sua  sponte  —  and  the  nation  kept 
quiet  and  honest,  yet  with  a  certain  sense  of  growth,  nor  unmindful  of 
opportunities  of  glory.  Most  truly,  your  friend, 

"R.  Choate." 

A  lecture  on  Jefferson,  Burr,  and  Hamilton,  which  he  de- 
livered March  10th,  1858,  though  of  necessity  general  and 
somewhat  desultory,  was  marked  by  his  usual  breadth  of 
delineation  and  brilliancy  of  coloring,  and  led  him  to  review 
and  re-state  some  of  tlie  fundamental  ideas  which  marked  the 
origin  and  progress  of  our  government.  I  pass  by  his  de- 
lineation of  Jefferson,  who  brought  to  the  great  work  of  that 
era  "  the  magic  of  style  and  the  habit  and  the  power  of  de- 
licious dalliance  with  those  large  and  fair  ideas  of  freedom 
and  equality,  so  dear  to  man,  so  irresistible  in  that  day;"  and 

1  An  Address  delivered  at  St.  Louis,  at  the  Inauguration  of  Washington  Uni- 
versity of  the  State  of  Missouri. 


1855-1858.]  LECTUEE   ON   HAMILTON.  QgQ 

of  Burr,  to  whom  he  was  just,  but  whom  he  did  not  love, 
and  whose  "  shadow  of  a  name  "  he  thought  it  unfair  to  com- 
pare for  a  moment  with  either  of  the  others ;  and  content 
myself  with  the  conclusion  of  his  sketch  of  Hamilton.  After 
referring  to  the  progress  and  the  changes  in  the  public  senti- 
ment of  America,  by  which  the  Confederation,  largely  through 
Hamilton's  influence,  melted  into  the  Union,  he  proceeds :  — 

"  I  find  him  [Hamilton]  growing  from  his  speech  in  '  the 
Great  Fields,'  at  seventeen,  in  1774"?  to  the  last  number  of  'The 
Federalist'  I  find  him  everywhere  in  advance ;  everywhere 
frankest  of  our  public  men.  Earlier  than  every  other,  bolder 
than  every  other,  he  saw  and  he  announced  that  the  Confedera- 
tion could  not  govern,  could  not  consolidate,  could  not  create 
the  America  for  which  we  had  been  fighting.  Sooner  than 
every  one  he  saw  and  taught  that  we  wanted,  not  a  league,  but 
a  government.  Sooner  than  every  one  he  saw  that  a  partition 
of  sovereignty  was  practicable,  —  that  the  State  might  retain 
part,  the  new  nation  acquire  part ;  —  that  the  grander,  more 
imperial  —  the  right  of  war,  of  peace,  of  diplomacy,  of  tax- 
ation, of  commerce,  and  rights  similar  and  kindred  —  might 
be  acquired  and  wielded  directly  by  the  nation,  and  the  vast, 
various  and  uncertain  residue  held  by  the  States,  which  in  this 
system  were  an  essential  part; — that  the  result  would  be  one 
great  People  —  E  Pliiribus  TJnum  —  master  of  a  continent, 
a  match  for  a  world.  To  him  more  than  to  all  or  any  one 
besides  we  owe  it,  that  the  convention  at  Annapolis  ascended 
above  the  vain,  timid  and  low  hope  of  amending  the  old  Arti- 
cles, assumed  the  high  character  of  a  direct  representation  of 
the  People  of  these  States,  and  took  on  themselves  the  respon- 
sibility of  giving  to  that  People  for  acceptance  or  rejection  — 
by  conventions  in  their  States  —  a  form  of  government  com- 
pletely new. 

"  These  speculations,  these  aims,  ruled  his  life  from  I78O 
to  1789.  '  That  age  —  all  of  it  —  is  full  of  his  power,  his 
truth,  his  wisdom,'  —  full  to  running  over.  Single  senti- 
ments ;  particular  preferences  minor,  and  less  or  more  charac- 
teristic ;  less  cherished  details,  —  modes,  stages,  proofs  of 
opinion, —  of  these  I  have  said  nothing,  for  history  cares 
nothing,  I  do  not  maintain  that  he  did  as  much  in  the  con- 
vention at  Annapolis  as  others  to  shape  the  actual  provisions 

VOL.  I.  20 


230  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

of  the  Constitution.  I  do  not  contend  that  he  liked  all  of 
them  very  well.  But  soldier-like,  statesman-like,  sailor-like, 
he  felt  the  general  pulse ;  he  surveyed  his  country ;  he  heaved 
the  lead  at  every  inch  of  his  way.  His  great  letter  to  Duane 
in  I78O  anticipates  the  Union  and  the  Government  in  which 
we  live.  Through  the  press,  in  the  Assembly  of  New  York, 
in  the  old  Congress,  to  some  extent  in  the  Constitutional,  and 
to  large  extent  in  the  State  Convention,  he  was  first ;  he  who, 
like  Webster,  never  flattered  the  people,  but  served  them  as  he 
did,  dared  to  address  their  reason,  their  interests,  —  not  their 
passion  of  progress,  —  in  'The  Federalist.'  And  of  the  fore- 
most and  from  the  start  he  espoused  that  Constitution  all  as 
his,  and  loved,  and  honored,  and  maintained  it  all  till  he  went 
to  his  untimely  grave. 

"  I  dwell  on  that  time  from  I78O  to  1789  because  that  was 
our  age  of  civil  greatness.  Then,  first,  we  grew  to  be  one. 
In  that  time  our  nation  was  born.  That  which  went  before 
made  us  independent.  Our  better  liberty,  our  law,  our  or- 
der, our  union,  our  credit,  our  commerce,  our  rank  among 
the  nations,  our  page  in  the  great  history  we  owe  to  this. 
Independence  was  the  work  of  the  higher  passions.  The 
Constitution  was  the  slow  product  of  wisdom.  I  do  not  deny 
that  in  that  age  was  sown  the  seed  of  our  party  divisions ;  of 
our  strict  and  our  liberal  Constructionists  ;  of  our  Unionists 
and  States  Rights  Men  ;  of  smaller  Hamiltons,  and  smaller 
Jeffersons.  But  who  now  dares  raise  a  hand  against  the 
system  which  illustrates  that  day  \  Who  dares  now  to  say 
that  the  Union  shall  not  stand  as  they  left  it  %  Who  dares 
now  to  say  that  the  wide  arch  of  empire  ranged  by  them  shall 
not  span  a  continent^  Who  dares  now  to  say  that  the 
America  of  that  day ;  the  America  of  this ;  the  America  of 
all  time  and  all  history,  is  not  his  own  America ;  first,  last, 
midst ;  who  does  not  hail  on  that  flag,  streaming  over  land 
and  sea,  —  living  or  dying,  —  the  writing,  bathed  and  blaz- 
ing in  light,  '  Liberty  and  Union,  now  and  forever,  one  and 
inseparable  ! ' 

"  The  public  life  of  Hamilton  closes  with  the  fall  of  Fede- 
ralism, in  1801,  as  a  party  of  the  nation.  In  his  administra- 
tion as  first  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  in  his  general  counsels 
to  Washington,  in  his  general  influence  on  the  first  years  of 


1855-1858.]  LECTURE   ON   HAMILTON.  231 

our  youthful  world,  you  see  the  same  masterly  capacity ;  the 
same  devotion  to  the  Constitution  as  it  was  written,  and  to  the 
Union  which  it  helped  to  grow ;  the  same  civil  wisdom ; 
the  same  filial  love  ;  the  same  American  feeling  ;  the  same 
transparent  truth  which  had  before  made  him  our  first  of 
statesmen.  Some,  all,  or  almost  all,  of  the  works  which  he 
did,  have  come  under  the  judgment  of  party  and  of  time  ; 
and  on  these,  opinions  are  divided.  But  no  man  has  called  in 
question  the  ability  which  established  all  departments,  and 
framed  and  presided  over  that  one ;  which  debated  the  consti- 
tutionality and  expediency  of  that  small  first  Bank ;  which 
funded  our  debts,  restored  order  to  our  credit ;  which  saw  in 
us  before  we  saw,  before  Smith  saw,  our  capacity  to  manufac- 
ture for  ourselves ;  which  made  us  impartial  and  made  us 
neutral  while  our  ancient  friends  became  a  Republic,  and  our 
ancient  enemy  and  the  world  were  in  arms  for  old,  shaking 
thrones.  When  that  argument  for  the  Bank  was  read  by  the 
Judges  in  1819,  one  of  them  said,  that  every  other  supporter 
and  opponent  of  that  measure  in  the  age  of  Washington, 
seemed  a  child  in  the  grasp  of  a  giant.  In  this  last  era  his 
difference  in  all  things  from  Jefferson  became  more  widely 
pronounced;  each  retired  from  the  cabinet;  and  in  1801 
Democracy  became  the  national  politics  of  America. 

"  I  have  avoided,  as  I  ought,  all  inquiry  into  the  private 
life  of  Burr.  I  am  equally  reserved  on  that  of  Hamilton  ; 
although  that  private  life  fears  no  disclosures  as  a  whole,  and 
no  contrasts  as  a  whole.  Yet  this  sketch  would  be  imperfect 
more  than  it  must  be,  if  I  did  not  add  something  which  I 
have  read,  heard,  or  thought  on  the  man. 

"From  1781  to  1789,  and  again  from  1795  till  his  death 
in  1 804*  —  some  seventeen  years  —  he  practised  the  law.  I 
hear  that  in  that  profession  he  was  wise,  safe,  and  just;  that 
his  fees  were  moderate ;  that  his  honor  was  without  a  stain ; 
that  his  general  ability  was  transcendent,  and  that  in  rank  he 
was  leader.  A  gentleman  from  this  city,  whose  name  I  might 
give,  solicited  his  counsel  in  some  emergency.  He  admired, 
as  all  did,  his  knowledge  of  men,  his  ingenuity,  his  prompt- 
ness ;  and  tendered  him  a  fee  of  one  hundred  dollars.  '  No, 
Sir,'  said  Hamilton,  handing  him  back  the  difference,  '  twenty 
dollars  is  very  abundant.'     He  was  consulted  by  a  guardian, 


MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

knavish  as  the  guardian  of  Demosthenes.  He  heard  his 
story ;  developed  its  details ;  ran  with  him  through  the  gene- 
ral vi^ilderness  of  his  roguery ;  and  then,  sternly  as  at  York- 
town, —  'Now  go  and  make  your  peace  with  your  ward,  or  I 
will  hunt  you  as  a  hare  for  his  skin.'  There  was  a  political 
opponent,  —  oldish,  delicate,  and  prejudiced,  —  who  hated 
him  and  his  administration  of  the  treasury,  but  who  lost  no 
hour,  day  in  and  day  out,  at  Albany,  in  the  Errors  and  Su- 
preme Court,  to  hear  every  word  that  he  said.  '  I  could 
never,'  said  he,  '  withdraw  from  him  half  an  eye.  It  was  all 
one  steady,  flashing,  deepening  flow  of  mind.'  This  I  heard 
from  a  member  of  Congress. 

"  His  masterpiece  at  the  Bar  was  the  defence  of  Creswell, 
of  'The  Balance,'  published  at  Hudson,  for  a  libel,  in  1804i. 
It  is  reported  in  Johnson's  Cases.  It  is  better  reported  by 
Chancellor  Kent,  who  heard  it ;  by  the  universal  tradition, 
which  boasts  of  it  as  of  the  grandest  displays  of  the  legal 
profession  ;  and  by  the  common  or  statute  law  of  America, 
on  which  it  is  written  forever.  There  and  then  he  engraved 
on  our  mind,  as  with  a  pen  of  steel,  the  doctrine,  that  truth 
from  right  motives,  for  justifiable  ends,  might  be  safely  writ- 
ten of  everybody,  high  or  low. 

"  Such  — ■  so  limited  —  is  our  unwritten  or  our  better 
liberty. 

"  That  argument  was  made  to  a  bench  of  Judges.  It  was 
made  to  an  audience  of  lawyers  and  educated  men  ;  and  I 
have  heard  that  tears  unbidden  —  silence  that  held  his  breath 
to  hear  applause  unrepressed  —  murmurs  not  loud,  but  deep 

—  marked  the  magic  and  the  power. 

"  He  wrote  out  that  argument  at  length  ;  then  tore  his 
manuscript  in  fragments,  and  spoke  as  he  was  moved  of  the 
genius  within  him  ! 

"  Who  surpassed  him  as  a  reasoner  1  You  all  know  the 
calm  power  of  '  The  Federalist.'  Do  you  admire  anything  in 
that  immortal  work  more  than  his  transparent  and  quiet  style; 
his  pure  English,  always  equal  to  itself;  his  skilful  interpreta- 
tion ;  his  masterly  ability  with  which  from  the  nature  of  man, 
the  nature  of  government,  the  lessons  of  history,  the  past  and 
present  of  Europe,  the  uses  of  a  head,  the  uses  of  a  nation, 

—  he  demonstrated  that  such  powers  must  be  given,  and  such 


1855-1858.]  LECTURE   ON   HAMILTON.  238 

powers  are  given  ]  Who,  since  the  eighty-eighth  number,  has 
dared  to  doubt  that  to  the  judge  it  is  given  to  compare  the 
law  with  the  Constitution,  and  to  pronounce  which  is  his/her ; 
and  that  from  the  judge  there  Hes  no  appeal ! 

"  What  a  revolution  may  do  to  force  prematurely  the  ca- 
pacity of  man,  we,  thank  God !  know  not.  What  a  cross  of 
Scotch  and  Huguenot  blood ;  a  birth,  infancy,  childhood, 
and  boyhood  beneath  those  tropics  where  the  earthquake  rev- 
els, which  the  hurricane  sweeps  over,  which  the  fever  wastes 
at  noonday,  over  which  the  sun  tyrannizes,  whose  air  is 
full  of  electricity,  and  whose  soil  is  of  fire, — personally  we 
know  not.  But  I  own  I  am  struck  with  nothing  more  than 
the  precociousness  of  those  mighty  powers,  and  their  equal, 
balanced,  and  safe  development.  At  seventeen,  he  addressed 
masses  on  non-importation  in  '  the  Great  Fields '  of  New  York, 
with  the  eloquence  and  energy  of  James  Otis.  At  eighteen, 
he  was  among  our  ablest  and  wisest  in  the  conduct  of  that 
great  controversy  with  the  measures  of  a  king.  At  twenty, 
he  conceived  our  Union.  At  thirty-two  he  wrote  his  share  of 
'  The  Federalist.'  At  thirty-eight  his  public  life  was  over.  I 
doubt  if  Pascal,  if  Grotius,  if  Csesar,  if  Napoleon,  had  so  early 
in  life  revealed  powers  vaster  and  maturer. 

"  There  is  one  memory  of  Hamilton  to  which  he  is  entitled 
in  his  bloody  grave,  and  by  which  his  truest  eulogy  is  spoken, 
which  refutes  of  itself  ten  thousand  slanders,  and  which  blooms 
over  him  —  over  Hoboken  —  over  the  church  where  his  tomb 
is  kept,  —  ever  fragrant  and  ever  new.  With  the  exception, 
of  course,  of  certain  political  opponents,  and  of  a  competitor 
or  two,  no  man  knew  him  who  did  not  dearly  love  him ;  no 
one  loved  him  once  that  did  not  love  him  to  the  last  gasp. 
From  the  moment  he  saw  and  talked  with  him  as  Captain  of 
Artillery,  from  the  hour  after  he  left  his  military  family, 
until  he  slept  that  long  sleep  at  Mount  Vernon,  Washington 
held  him  to  his  heart;  and  when  that  man — greatest  of  earth 
—  died,  Hamilton  sat  down  speechless  in  the  presence  of 
Sedgwick,  pressed  his  hand  upon  his  eyes,  and  cried  as  a 
child  for  a  father  dead.  '  The  tears,'  said  Ames,  '  that  flow 
over  this  fond  recital  will  never  dry  up.  My  heart,  pros- 
trated with  the  remembrance  of  Hamilton,  grows  liquid  as  I 
write,  and  I  could  pour  it  out  like  water.' 

20* 


234f  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  IX. 

"  To  compare  the  claims  and  deeds  of  Burr  with  those  of 
this  great  man,  his  victim,  were  impious.  To  compare  those 
of  Hamilton,  or  contrast  them  with  those  of  the  great  Phi- 
lanthropist and  Democrat,  Thomas  Jefferson,  who  is  equal  ] 
Each  in  his  kind  was  greatest ;  each  in  his  kind  advanced 
the  true  interests  of  America." 

The  following  letter  will  illustrate  the  playful  mixture  of  lit- 
erature with  business,  which  often  characterized  Mr.  Choate's 
intercourse  with  friends.  It  occurred  after  a  meeting  on  pro- 
fessional affairs,  during  which  a  question — forgotten,  however, 
almost  as  soon  as  proposed,  till  thus  again  brought  to  mind  — 
had  arisen  on  the  reading  of  a  passage  in  Virgil :  — 

To   George  T.  Davis,  Esq. 

"Boston,  20th  April,  1858. 
"  Dear  Sir,  —  I  am  glad  they  are  beaten,  as  they  deserve  to  be.  Of 
course,  no  adjustment  now  is  to  be  heard  of.  The  motion  is  the  shadow 
of  a  shade,  and  I  guess,  after  actual  fraud  found,  the  bill  stands,  and  the 
cancellation  follows, —  which  leads  me  to  say  how  Virgil  wrote  it,  averno, 
or  avern^.  We  shall  never  know  till  we  ask  him  in  the  meads  of 
Asphodel.  But  Forbiger,  Wagner,  Heyne,  Servius,  after  the  cracker 
MSS.,  write  averno.  So  in  the  more  showy  texts  it  is  now.  When  we 
meet  we  will  settle  or  change  all  that.  Truly  yours, 

"  RuFUS  Choate." 

In  1858  Mr.  Choate  accepted  an  invitation  to  deliver  an 
oration,  on  the  4th  of  July,  before  the  Boston  Democratic 
Club.  It  was  with  the  understanding,  however,  that  no  party 
affinities  were  to  be  recognized.  He  spoke  for  the  Union,  and 
his  subject  was  '■'-American  Nationality  —  its  Nature  —  some 
of  its  Conditions,  and  some  of  its  Ethics."  He  was  received 
with  wild  and  tumultuous  applause,  and  heard  with  profound 
interest  and  sympathy  by  the  multitudes  which  crowded  the 
fremont  Temple ;  but  many  were  pained  to  perceive  the 
marks  of  physical  weakness  and  exhaustion.  He  spoke  with 
difficulty,  and  could  hardly  be  heard  throughout  the  large 
hall.  But  there  was  an  earnestness  and  almost  solemnity  in 
his  words  which  sunk  deep  into  the  hearts  of  the  audience. 
It  was  a  plea  for  the  nation,  in  view  of  a  peril  which  he 
thought  he  foresaw,  as  a  necessary  result  of  rash  counsels, 
of  a  false  political  philosophy,  and  of  wild  theories  of  political 


1855-1858.]  REMARKS   OF   MR.   EVERETT.  233 

morality.  He  never  again  addressed  his  fellow-citizens  on 
questions  of  general  political  interest,  and  his  last  public  words 
may  be  said  to  have  been  spoken  in  behalf  of  that  Union  which 
he  so  warmly  loved,  —  that  one  nation  whose  grand  march  across 
the  continent,  whose  unrivalled  increase  in  all  the  elements 
of  power  so  stimulated  and  gratified  his  patriotic  ambition. 
Whether  or  not  his  fears  were  wise,  we  may  now  perhaps  be 
better  able  to  judge  than  when  he  first  uttered  them. 

How  his  words  were  received  by  those  who  heard  him,  was 
admirably  expressed  by  Mr.  Everett  at  a  banquet,  on  the  same 
afternoon,  at  the  Revere  House.  "For  myself.  Sir,". he  said, 
"  standing  aloof  from  public  life  and  from  all  existing  party 
organizations,  I  can  truly  say  that  I  have  never  listened  to  an 
exposition  of  political  principle  with  higher  satisfaction.  I 
heard  the  late  Mr.  Samuel  Rogers,  the  venerable  banker-poet 
of  London,  more  than  once  relate  that  he  was  present  on  the 
10th  of  December,  1790,  when  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  delivered 
the  last  of  his  discourses  before  the  Royal  Academy  of  Art. 
Edmund  Burke  was  also  one  of  the  audience ;  and  at  the 
close  of  the  lecture  Mr.  Rogers  saw  him  go  up  to  Sir  Joshua, 
and  heard  him  say,  in  the  fulness  of  his  delight,  in  the  words 
of  Milton :  — 

'  The  angel  ended,  and  In  Adam's  ear 
So  charming  left  his  voice,  that  he  awhile 
Thought  him  still  speaking,  still  stood  fixed  to  hear.' 

When  our  friend  concluded  his  superb  oration  this  morning,  I 
was  ready,  like  Mr.  Cruger  (who  stood  with  Burke  for  the 
representation  of  Bristol),  '  to  say  ditto  to  Mr.  Burke.'  I  was 
unwilling  to  believe  that  the  noble  strain,  by  turns  persuasive, 
melting,  and  sublime,  had  ended.  The  music  of  the  voice  still 
dwelt  upon  my  ear ;  the  lofty  train  of  thought  elevated  and 
braced  my  understanding ;  the  generous  sentiments  filled  my 
bosom  with  delight,  as  the  peal  of  a  magnificent  organ,  touched 
by  the  master's  hand,  thrills  the  nerves  with  rapture  and  causes 
even  the  vaulted  roof  to  vibrate  in  unison.  The  charmed 
silence  seemed  for  a  while  to  prolong  the  charming  strain,  and 
it  was  some  moments  before  1  was  willing  to  admit  that  the 
stops  were  closed  and  the  keys  hushed." 


286  MEMOIR   OF    RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 


CHAPTER    X. 

1858-1859. 

Falling  Health  —  Speech  at  the  Webster  Festival,  January,  1859  —  Address  at 
the  Essex  Street  Church  —  Last  Law  Case  —  Goes  to  Dorchester  —  Occupa- 
tions—  Decides  to  go  to  Europe  —  Letter  to  Hon.  Charles  Eames  —  Letter  to 
Alfred  Abbott,  Esq.  —  Sails  in  The  Europa,  Capt.  Leitch  —  Illness  on  Board 

—  Lands  at  Halifa.x  —  Letter  from  Hon.  George  S.  Hillard —  Sudden  Death 

—  Proceedings  of  Public  Bodies  —  Meeting  of  the  Boston  Bar — Speeches  of 
Hon.  C.  G.  Loring,  R.  H.  Dana,  Judge  Curtis  and  Judge  Sprague  —  Meeting 
in  Faneuil  Hall  —  Speech  of  Mr.  Everett  —  Funeral. 

For  several  years  Mr.  Choate's  health  had  not  unfrequently 
excited  the  anxiety  of  his  friends.  They  wondered  how  he 
could  endure  such  continuous  and  exhausting  labors  ;  why  he, 
whose  mind  was  always  on  the  stretch,  who  took  no  rest,  and 
allowed  himself  no  recreation  but  that  of  his  library,  should 
not  at  last  fail,  like  the  over-strained  courser.  Their  fears 
were  not  groundless.  The  deepening  lines  of  his  countenance 
pallid  and  sallow,  the  frame  feebler  than  once,  the  voice  less 
strong,  the  whole  manner  less  energetic,  demonstrated  a  need 
of  caution.  He  was  under  an  engagement  to  address  the 
Alumni  of  Dartmouth  College  at  their  triennial  meeting  in 
1858,  and  had  made  a  partial  preparation,  but  at  the  last 
moment  was  obliged  to  give  it  up,  and  betake  himself  for  a 
few  idle  and  wearisome  days  to  the  sea-side.  A  week  or  two 
of  respite  from  work  —  it  could  not  be  called  recreation  —  a 
brief  visit  at  Essex,  a  few  nights  in  Dorchester  at  the  residence 
of  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Bell  —  gave  tone  again  to  his  wonder- 
fully elastic  constitution.  I  saw  him  repeatedly  during  the  next 
winter,  and,  notwithstanding  some  unfavorable  symptoms, 
thought  that  for  a  long  time  I  had  not  seen  him  in  such  ex- 
uberance of  spirits.  I  heard  him  make  two  arguments,  and 
could  not  but  notice  the  vigorous  life  with  which  he  moved. 
There  was  the  same  intellectual  face  —  the  same  eye,  black, 


1858-1859.]     ADDRESS   AT   ESSEX   STREET  CHURCH.  Qg^ 

wide  open,  looking  straight  at  the  jury,  and  at  individuals  of 
them  as  he  addressed  now  one  and  then  another,  —  the  same 
unrivalled  felicity  of  speech, — the  same  tremendous  vehemence, 
a  little  tempered,  perhaps, — the  same  manner  of  straightening 
and  drawing  himself  up  at  an  interruption, — the  same  playful- 
ness and  good  humor,  —  the  occasional  dropping  of  his  voice 
to  a  confidential  whisper,  —  the  confident  exactness  of  state- 
ment,—  the  ahsolute  command  of  every  circumstance,  —  the 
instantaneous  apprehension,  —  the  lightning  rapidity  of  thought, 
—  the  suhtle,  hut  clear  and  impregnable  logic.  This  apparent 
vigor  proved,  however,  to  be  but  the  last  flashes  of  the  fire 
whose  fuel  was  nearly  exhausted. 

The  friends  of  Mr.  Webster,  according  to  a  custom  which  had 
grown  into  honor  among  them,  celebrated  his  birthday  in  1859 
by  a  festive  gathering,  which  Mr.  Choate  found  himself  able, 
though  but  just  able,  to  attend.  With  what  warmth  he  spoke  on 
that  theme  which  never  failed  to  stimulate  him,  those  who  heard 
will  never  forget.     They  thought  he  was  never  so  eloquent. 

He  spoke  but  once  more  in  public  out  of  the  line  of  his 
profession.  The  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  the  settlement  of 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Adams,  whose  church  he  attended,  was  celebrated 
on  the  28th  of  March.  He  could  not  resist  the  wish  to  bear 
his  testimony  to  the  opinions  and  character  of  one  whom  he 
deeply  respected  and  loved.  It  was  a  large  and  interesting- 
assemblage  of  clergymen  and  laymen,  met  to  pay  a  tribute  of 
respect  to  a  faithful  Christian  minister.  Mr.  Choate  spoke 
with  great  tenderness  and  depth  of  feeling  of  the  many  years 
they  had  been  together  in  that  society,  alluding  briefly,  in 
illustration,  to  the  great  events  which  in  the  mean  time  had 
been  taking  place  in  Europe  and  in  this  country.  He  then 
spoke  of  the  reasons  —  accident  or  inclination  —  which  had 
brought  them  to  that  house  as  their  habitual  place  of  worship, 
first  among  which  he  named  the  love  and  respect  of  the  con- 
gregation for  its  minister.  They  had  marked  the  daily  beauty 
of  his  life,  his  consistency,  his  steadiness,  his  affectionateness, 
his  sincerity,  —  transparent  to  every  eye,  —  his  abilities,  his 
moderation,  his  taste,  his  courage.  They  had  seen  him  on 
some  occasions  most  interesting  to  the  feelings,  and  which 
dwell  the  longest  in  the  memory  and  the  affections :  at  the 
bedside  of  the  sick  and  dying,  at  the  burial  of  those  loved 


238  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS  CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

most  on  earth,  at  the  baptism  of  their  children,  or  when  first 
they  clasped  the  hands  of  their  brides.  Thus  between  them 
and  him  there  had  been  woven  a  tie  which  could  never  be 
sundered,  even  when  the  silver  cord  itself  is  loosed  and  the 
golden  bowl  is  broken. 

"  There  is  a  second  reason,  however,"  he  proceeded  to  say, 
"  which  we  may  with  very  great  propriety  give  for  the  selec- 
tion which  we  have  made,  and  to  which  we  have  so  long 
adhered ;  and  it  is,  my  friends,  that  we  have  attended  this 
worship  and  attached  ourselves  to  this  society,  because  we 
have  believed  that  we  found  here  a  union  of  a  true  and  old 
religion,  with  a  possibility  and  the  duty  of  a  theory  of  culture 
and  of  love  for  that  in  which  the  mental  and  moral  nature  of 
man  may  be  developed  and  may  be  completely  accomplished. 

"  That  we  hold  a  specific  religious  creed,  is  quite  certain  ; 
obtruding  it  on  nobody,  and  not  for  a  moment,  of  course, 
dreaming  of  defending  ourselves  against  anybody, — in  the 
way  of  our  fathers,  we  worship  God  in  this  assembly.  We 
believe  that  the  sources  and  proof  and  authority  of  religion 
rest  upon  a  written  revelation,  communicated  by  the  Supreme 
Will  to  a  race  standing  in  certain  specific  abnormal  conditions. 
What  that  Will,  honestly  gathered,  teaches,  composes  the 
whole  religious  duty  of  man.  To  find  out  that  meaning  by  all 
the  aids  of  which  a  thorough  and  an  honest  scholarship  may 
possibly  avail  itself, —  by  the  study  of  original  tongues,  —  by 
the  study  of  the  history  and  government  and  manners  and 
customs  and  geography  of  the  nations  in  which  it  was  first 
published,  —  by  a  collation,  honestly  and  intelligently,  of  one 
version  with  another  version,  —  by  the  history  of  creeds,  —  by 
attending  especially  to  the  faith  of  those  churches  who  thought 
they  saw  the  light  at  first,  and  saw  it  when  it  was  clearest  and 
brightest,  —  by  all  this,  we  say,  it  is  the  first  duty  of  the  min- 
ister to  learn  the  truth ;  and  the  second  duty  is  to  impress  it 
by  persuasive  speech  and  holy  life  upon  the  consciences  and 
hearts  of  men.  These  things,  truly  and  honestly  interrogated, 
reveal  a  certain  state  of  truths,  and  these  compose  our  creed, 
and  the  creed  of  every  other  denomination  possessing  and 
preaching  and  maintaining  a  kindred  theology.  Diversities 
of  expression  there  are  undoubtedly;  diversities  of  the  meta- 
physical theories  of  those  who  hold  them ;  more  or  less  sali- 


t 

1858-1859.]     ADDRESS  AT  ESSEX  STREET  CHURCH.  Q^Q 

eiicy,  more  or  less  illustration  in  the  mode  in  which  they  are 
presented  ;  but  substantially  we  have  thought  they  were  one. 
We  regard  the  unity,  and  we  forget  the  diversity,  in  concen- 
tration of  kindred  substances.  I  think  our  church  began  with 
the  name  and  in  the  principle  of  Union  ;  and  in  that  name, 
and  according  to  that  principle,  we  maintain  it  to-day. 

"  And  now,  is  there  anything,  my  friends,  in  all  this,  which 
is  incompatible,  in  any  degree,  with  the  warmest  and  most 
generous  and  large  and  liberal  and  general  culture,  with  the 
warmest  heart,  with  the  most  expansive  and  hopeful  philan- 
thropy, with  the  most  tolerant,  most  cheerful,  most  charitable 
love  of  man  \  Do  we  not  all  of  us  hold  that  outside  of  this 
special,  authoritative,  written  revelation,  thus  promulgated, 
collateral  with  it,  consistent  with  it,  the  creation  of  the  same 
nature,  there  is  another  system  still,  a  mental  and  moral 
nature,  which  we  may  with  great  propriety  expose,  and  which 
we  may  very  wisely  and  fitly  study  and  enjoy  \  Into  that  sys- 
tem are  we  forbidden  to  pry,  lest  we  become,  or  be  in  danger  of 
becoming,  Atheists,  Deists,  Pantheists,  or  Dilettanti,  or  Epicu- 
rean? What  is  there  to  hinder  us  from  walking — consistently 
with  our  faith  and  the  preaching  to  which  every  Sunday  we  are 
so  privileged  to  listen  —  what  is  there  to  hinder  us  from  walk- 
ing on  the  shore  of  the  great  ocean  of  general  truth,  and  gath- 
ering up  here  and  there  one  of  its  pebbles,  and  listening  here 
and  there  to  the  music  of  one  of  its  shells  \  What  is  there 
to  hinder  us  from  looking  at  that  natural  revelation  that  shall 
be  true  hereafter  \  What  is  there  in  all  this  to  prevent  us  from 
trying  to  open,  if  we  can  open,  the  clasped  volume  of  that 
elder,  if  it  may  be  that  obscurer  Scripture  \  What  is  there 
to  hinder  us  from  studying  the  science  of  the  stars,  from 
going  back  with  the  geologist  to  the  birthday  of  a  real  crea- 
tion, and  thus  tracing  the  line  through  the  vestiges  of  a  real 
and  a  true  creation  down  to  that  later  and  great  period  of 
time,  when  the  morning  stars  sang  together,  exulting  over  this 
rising  ball  \  What  is  there  to  hinder  us,  if  we  dare  to  do  it, 
from  going  down  with  chemists  and  physiologists  to  the  very 
chambers  of  existence,  and  trying  thence  to  trace,  if  we  may, 
the  faint  lines  by  which  matter  rose  to  vitality,  and  vitality 
welled  up  first  to  animals,  and  then  to  man  \  What  is  there 
to  prevent  us  from  trying  to  trace  the  footsteps  of   God  in 


Q4,Q  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

history,  from  reading  his  law  in  the  policies  of  States,  in  the 
principles  of  morals,  and  in  the  science  of  g-overnments, —  his 
love  in  the  happiness  of  all  the  families  of  the  human  race,  in 
animals  and  in  man, —  his  retributions  in  the  judgments  that 
are  'abroad  in  all  the  earth?'  Is  there  anything  to  hinder 
us,  in  the  faith  we  hold,  from  indulging  the  implanted  sense  of 
beauty  in  watching  the  last  glow  of  the  summer  eve,  or  the  first 
faint  flush  that  precedes  or  follows  the  glorious  rising  of  the 
morning?  Because  we  happen  to  believe  that  a  written  reve- 
lation is  authoritative  upon  every  man,  and  that  there  is  con- 
tained in  it,  distinctly  and  expressly,  the  expression  of  the 
need  of  reconciliation,  is  there  anything  in  all  this,  let  me 
ask  you,  my  friends,  which  should  hinder  us  from  trying  to 
explore  the  spirit  of  Plato,  from  admiring  the  supremacy  of 
mind  —  which  is  at  last  the  inspiration  of  the  Almighty,  that 
gives  you  understanding — in  such  an  intellect  as  that  of  New- 
ton, —  from  looking  at  the  camp-fires  as  they  glitter  on  the 
plains  of  Troy,  — from  standing  on  the  battlements  of  heaven 
with  Milton,  —  from  standing  by  the  side  of  Macbeth,  sympa- 
thizing with,  or  at  least  appreciating  something'  of,  the  com- 
punction and  horror  that  followed  the  murder  of  his  friend 
and  host  and  king,  —  from  going  out  with  old  Lear,  gray  hair 
streaming,  and  throat  choking,  and  heart  bursting  with  a  sense 
of  filial  ingratitude,  —  from  standing  by  the  side  of  Othello, 
when  he  takes  the  life  of  all  that  he  loves  best  in  this  world, 
'not  for  hate,  but  all  for  honor,' — from  admiring  and  sadden- 
ing to  see  how  the  fond  and  deep  and  delicate  spirit  of 
Hamlet  becomes  oppressed  and  maddened  by  the  terrible  dis- 
covery, by  the  sense  of  duty  not  entirely  clear,  by  the  conflict 
of  emotions,  and  by  the  shrinking  dread  of  that  life  to  come, 
as  if  he  saw  a  hand  we  could  not  see,  and  heard  a  voice  we 
could  not  hear  ?  Certainly  there  can  be  no  manner  of  doubt 
that  our  faith,  such  as  you  profess  it  and  such  as  you  hold  it, 
will  give  direction  in  one  sense  to  all  our  studies.  There  can 
be  doubt,  in  one  sense  and  to  a  certain  extent,  it  baptizes 
and  holds  control  over  those  studies  ;  certainly,  also,  it  may  be 
admitted,  that  it  creates  tendencies  and  tastes  that  may  a  little 
less  reluctantly  lead  away  a  man  from  the  contemplation  of 
these  subjects ;  but  is  it  incompatible  with  them  ?  Do  you 
think  that  Agassiz,  that  Everett,  each  transcendent  in  his  own 


1858-1859.]  LAST   LAW    CASE.  241 

department  of  genius,  has  become  so,  because  he  held,  or  did 
not  hold,  a  specific  faith  ?  Because  you  believe  the  Old  Tes- 
tament, as  well  as  the  New,  cannot  you  read  a  classic  in  the 
last  and  best  edition,  if  you  know  how  to  read  it  ^  That  is 
the  great  question  at  last,  and  I  apprehend  that  the  incompati- 
bility of  which  we  sometimes  hear,  has  no  foundation  in  the 
things  that  are  to  be  compared.  Did  poor,  rich  Cowper  think 
them  incompatible,  one  with  another,  when  for  so  many  years 
he  soothed  that  burning  brow  and  stayed  that  fainting  reason, 
and  turned  back  those  dark  billows  that  threatened  to  over- 
whelm him,  by  his  translation  of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey? 
What  did  he  say  of  this  incompatibility  himself?  '  Learning 
has  borne  such  fruit  on  all  her  branches,  piety  has  found  true 
friends  in  the  friends  of  science,  even  prayer  has  flowed  from 
lips  wet  with  Castalian  dews.'  I  hold,  therefore,  —  and  I 
shall  be  excused  by  the  friends  of  other  denominations,  now 
and  here  present,  if  I  deliberately  repeat  and  publicly  record, 

—  that  we  have  attended  this  church,  attached  ourselves  to 
this  congregation,  and  adhere  to  this  form  of  faith,  because  we 
believe  it  to  be  the  old  religion,  the  true  religion,  and  the 
safest ;  and  because,  also,  we  have  thought  that  there  was  no 
incompatibility  between  it  and  the  largest  and  most  generous 
mental  culture,  and  the  widest  philanthropy,  that  are  necessary 
in  order  to  complete  the  moral  and  mental  development  and 
accomplishment  of  man." 

In  a  strain  quite  unusual,  he  then,  in  drawing  to  a  close, 
commended  and  enforced  the  separation  of  party  politics  from 
the  ordinary  services  of  the  pulpit. 

The  next  day,  March  29,  he  made  his  last  argument  before 
the  full  bench,  in  the  case  of  Gage  vs.  Tudor.  The  indispo- 
sition with  which  he  had  been  troubled  during  the  winter  — 
weakness,  lassitude,  and  a  frequently  returning  nausea,  the 
causes  of  which  were  obscure,  and  not  reached  by  medicines 

—  had  gradually  increased  and  caused  him  more  annoyance. 
His  friends  were  solicitous  ;  but  he  had  frequently  rallied  from 
serious  indisposition,  and  they  hoped  for  the  best.  He  was 
able  still  to  be  at  his  office  ;  once  more  appeared  before  a  sin- 
gle judge  in  chambers  upon  a  question  of  alimony,  and  early 
in  April,  though  really  much  too  ill  for  the  exertion,  went,  at 
the   earnest  solicitation  of  a  junior,  to   look   after  a  case   in 

VOL.  I.  21 


£42  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

Salem.  It  seemed  a  felicity  of  his  life  that  the  last  time  he 
appeared  in  court  should  be  at  that  bar  where,  thirty-five  years 
before,  he  had  commenced  the  practice  of  his  profession, —  the 
Bar  of  Essex  County.  It  was  a  case  of  a  contested  will,  of 
considerable  interest  in  itself,  the  decision  turning  upon  the 
state  of  health  of  the  testator.  But  those  who  were  engaged 
in  it  were  struck  at  observing  the  turn  given  by  Mr.  Choate 
to  the  examination  of  one  of  the  medical  witnesses,  when,  after 
obtaining  all  the  information  necessary  to  the  point  in  hand, 
he  proceeded  with  a  series  of  questions  bearing  evidently  upon 
the  nature  of  the  disease  under  which  he  supposed  himself 
laboring.  No  notice  was  taken  of  it  at  the  time ;  but  he  sub- 
sequently alluded  to  it  in  conversation  with  his  junior  counsel, 
suggesting  that  he  thought  he  had  a  disease  of  the  heart 
which  might  at  any  moment  prove  fatal.  As  the  cause  pro- 
ceeded he  found  himself  unequal  to  the  labor  of  the  trial,  and 
withdrew  from  it  before  its  close,  returning  home  on  Saturday 
the  16th  of  April.  He  never  went  to  his  office  again;  and, 
with  the  exception  of  once  attending  church,  and  going  to  the 
funeral  of  a  daughter  of  a  much  revered  friend,  (Hon.  Jere- 
miah Mason,)  never  again  to  any  place  of  public  assembly. 
Books  became  more  than  ever  his  solace  and  delight.  He 
read  as  much  as  he  was  able,  but  more  frequently  listened, 
(his  daughter  reading  aloud,)  not  to  whole  volumes  or  con- 
tinuous discussions,  but  to  a  few  pages  of  Bacon,  a  scene  in 
Sliakspeare,  a  few  lines  of  Homer,  a  page  of  Wordsworth,  a 
poem  by  Tennyson,  and  oftener  still  to  religious  works :  to  a 
parable  or  miracle  as  expounded  by  Dr.  Trench,  a  Hulsean 
lecture  by  the  same  author,  a  discourse  by  Jeremy  Taylor,  or 
a  chapter  in  "  The  Pilgrim's  Progress." 

His  attention  was  now  turned  to  a  voyage  to  Europe  as  a 
means  of  alleviating  his  disorder.  It  would  at  any  rate  save 
him  from  all  temptation  to  professional  labor,  and  he  hoped 
to  find  solace,  pleasure,  and  health,  in  a  quiet  residence  of  a 
month  or  two  in  the  south  of  England ;  his  thoughts  turning 
especially  to  the  Isle  of  Wight.  He  accordingly  secured  a 
passage  in  the  steamer  which  was  to  leave  Boston  about  the 
middle  of  May.  As  the  day  drew  near,  however,  he  felt  him- 
self unequal  to  the  voyage,  and  accordingly  deferred  his  de- 
parture.    The  delay  brought  no  material  relief,  and  for  the 


1858-1859.]  GOES   TO   DORCHESTER.  243 

sake  of  greater  quiet,  and  the  purer  air  of  the  country,  he 
went  on  the  24th  of  May,  to  the  residence  of  his  son-in-law, 
JosejDh  M.  Bell,  Esq.,  in  Dorchester.  The  month  that  he 
remained  in  this  delightful  suburban  retreat  was  full  of  quiet 
enjoyment.  His  appetite  good,  he  suffered  from  nothing 
but  weakness  and  occasional  sudden  attacks  of  nausea.  Every 
day  he  drove,  sometimes  into  town  to  get  books,  sometimes 
into  the  country  over  the  secluded  and  picturesque  suburban 
roads  about  Boston,  but  oftener  to  the  sea,  or  to  some  point 
from  which  he  could  get  a  view  of  the  ocean.  At  home,  not 
seeming  to  be  very  ill,  he  enjoyed  everything  with  a  rare  and 
intense  delight.  His  love  of  Nature,  which  had  rather  slum- 
bered during  the  toils  and  anxieties  of  an  active  life,  revived 
again  as  he  looked  upon  her,  undisturbed  by  the  demands  of 
a  jealous  profession.  He  would  sit  for  hours  in  the  sun,  or 
under  the  shade  of  the  veranda,  or  a  tree  near  the  house, 
watching  the  distant  city,  or  the  smoke  curling  up  from  far- 
off"  chimney  tops,  or  the  operations  of  husbandry  going  on  all 
about  him,  or  listening  to  favorite  authors,  or  to  music  which 
he  loved.  Never  had  he  seemed  to  enjoy  every  object  with  a 
keener  relish.  "  What  can  a  person  do,"  he  once  said  after  look- 
ing long  at  a  beautiful  landscape,  "life  is  not  long  enough — ." 
He  still  made  some  attempt  at  a  methodical  arrangement  of 
occupations.  The  early  hours  of  the  day  were  devoted  to  the 
Bible  ;  then  came  the  newspapers  ;  then  whatever  books  he 
might  be  interested  in,  from  the  Works  of  Lord  Bacon  to  the 
last  Review,  several  different  works  usually  being  read  in  the 
course  of  the  morning.  During  this  time  he  suffered  no 
pain,  and  but  for  weakness  which  rendered  it  a  labor  for 
him  to  walk  the  length  of  the  yard,  or  to  ascend  the  stairs, 
he  seemed  as  much  like  himself  as  ever.  He  saw  no  com- 
pany, not  being  able  to  endure  the  fatigue  of  conversation, 
or  dreading  interruption  by  the  nausea.  But  with  his  fam- 
ily, he  was  never  more  affectionate  and  playful,  and  never 
entered  with  fuller  zest  into  their  occupations  and  enjoy- 
ments. In  the  mean  time  the  question  of  the  voyage  re- 
curred, and  he  was  compelled  to  make  a  decision.  It 
was  evident  that  the  necessity  somewhat  weighed  upon 
his  mind,  and  that  it  was  almost  equally  difficult  for  him 
to  determine  to  stay  or  to  go.      His  disease  was  obscure ; 


244       '  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS    CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

his  physicians  anticipated  no  injury  from  the  voyage,  and 
hoped  for  some  rehef.  Three  steamers  had  already  sailed, 
since  he  first  thought  of  going ;  and  it  was  evident,  if  he 
hoped  for  henefit  from  a  summer  in  England,  that  he  could 
not  much  longer  delay  his  departure.  His  reluctance  to  re- 
voke a  decision  once  fairly  made,  —  especially  as  that  would 
seem  to  be  an  acknowledgment  of  an  illness  more  severe  and 
immediately  threatening  than  his  friends  or,  perhaps,  himself 
had  allowed,  —  the  prospect  of  rest,  the  hope  of  alleviation 
and  some  enjoyment,  and  possibly  of  recruiting  —  all  urged 
him  to  carry  out  his  plan.  At  the  same  time,  —  and  this 
perhaps  was  the  slight  consideration  which  turned  the  scale, 
—  he  knew  that  Halifax  was  less  than  two  days'  sail  from 
Boston,  and  that  if  the  voyage  proved  disagreeable,  or  any 
way  unfavorable,  it  was  easy  to  cut  it  short  and  return. 
Preparations  were  accordingly  made  with  apparent  cheerful- 
ness, though  with  a  latent  sadness  and  misgfiving-.  Books 
were  chosen,  he  himself  making  out  the  following  list:  The 
Bible  ;  Daily  Food ;  Luther  on  the  Psalms ;  Hengstenberg's 
Psalms  ;  Lewis's  Six  Days  of  Creation  ;  Owen  on  Mark  ; 
The  Iliad  ;  The  Georgics  (Heyne's  Virgil)  ;  Bacon's  Advance- 
ment of  Learning  ;  Shakspeare  ;  Milton  ;  Coleridge  ;  Thom- 
son ;  Macaulay's  History ;  Anastasius ;  The  Crescent  and  the 
Cross.  A  few  farewells  were  said,  and  a  few  farewell  notes 
written,  breathing  of  more,  as  it  now  seems,  than  a  tempo- 
rary separation.  The  following,  to  the  Hon.  Charles  Eames 
of  Washington,  and  another  to  Mr.  Abbott,  the  District  At- 
torney for  Essex,  were  written  the  day  before  he  sailed. 

"  Boston,  Tuesday,  June  28,  1859. 
"My  dear  Sir,  —  I  borrow  my  son's  hand  to  grasp  yours  and  Mrs. 
Eames's  with  the  friendship  of  many  years,  and  on  the  eve  of  a  depart- 
ure in  search  of  better  heahh.     God  bless  you  till  I  return,  and  whether 
I  return.  Yours  very  sincerely, 

"  R.  Choate,  Jr.,  for  Rdfus  Choate. 
"  Hon.  Charles  Eames." 


"  Hon.  a.  a.  Abbott  :  Boston,  Tuesday  afternoon,  June  28,  [1859.] 

"  My  dear  Sir,  —  It  would  puzzle  a  Philadelphia  doctor  to  say 
whether  I  am  intrinsically  better  than  when  I  saw  you  last,  but  I  am 
quite  competent  to  ])ronounce  for  myself  that  I  love  and  esteem  you,  and 
Brother  Lord,  and  Brother  Huntington,  quite  as  much  as  ever,  and  for 


1858-1859.]  SAILS   IN   THE   EUROPA.  245 

quite  as  much  reason.  Pray  accept  for  yourself  and  give  to  them  all,  my 
love,  and  be  sure  that  if  I  live  to  return,  it  will  be  with  unabated  regard 
for  all  of  you.  I  am  yours  most  affectionately, 

"  RuFUS  Choate,  by  R.  C.  Jr." 

On  the  29th  of  June  he  went  on  board  The  Europa,  Capt. 
Leitch,  accompanied  by  the  members  of  his  family  and  a  few 
friends,  and  immediately  lay  down  on  the  sofa  in  his  state- 
room. The  scene  was  necessarily  a  sad  one,  yet  he  was  quite 
calm  and  seemed  better  than  he  had  done,  retaining-  his  natural 
playfulness,  speaking  jocosely  of  the  smallness  of  his  recep- 
tion-room in  which  so  many  were  assembled,  yet,  with  a  pe- 
culiar tenderness,  wishing  to  keep  them  all  near  him  to  the 
last. 

When  his  friends  left  him  as  the  hour  for  sailing  drew  near, 
mindful  of  the  responsibility  that  might  seem  to  devolve  on  his 
medical  attendants,  he  sent  word  by  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Bell, 
to  Dr.  Putnam,  his  physician,  that  "  whatever  might  be  the 
event,  he  was  satisfied  that  everything  had  been  done  for  the 
best."  During  the  voyage  to  Halifax  he  lay  in  his  state-room 
still,  almost  like  marble,  and  with  no  restlessness  of  body  or 
mind,  conversing  but  little,  and  suffering  somewhat  from  sea- 
sickness. On  Thursday  a  bad  symptom  showed  itself,  in  the 
swelling  of  his  hands.  The  ship's  surgeon,  Dr.  Bry,  and 
another  physician  on  board.  Dr.  Tyler,  of  Brookfield,  were 
consulted,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  hazardous 
for  him  to  proceed,  as,  in  their  opinion,  the  excitement  atten- 
dant upon  any  accident,  or  a  severe  storm,  might  cause  death 
at  once.  To  the  advice  tendered  by  them  and  other  friends 
on  board,  after  a  little  hesitation,  he  assented,  apparently  glad 
of  a  chance  of  relief,  he  zvas  so  ivearij. 

The  letter  of  a  fellow-passenger,  Hon.  George  S.  Hillard, 
describes  the  circumstances  of  the  midnight  landing  too  graph- 
ically to  be  omitted  or  forgotten  in  this  narrative.  "  From 
the  moment  I  first  looked  upon  him,  on  the  morning  of  the 
day  that  we  sailed,"  says  Mr.  Hillard,  writing  from  England, 
after  hearing  of  his  death,  "  I  felt  assured  that  the  hand  of 
death  was  on  him.  His  berth  was  next  to  mine,  and  I  saw 
him  many  times  during  the  short  period  he  remained  on  board. 
He  was  always  lying  at  full  length  upon  the  sofa,  and  per- 
fectly quiet,  though  not  reading  or  listening  to  reading.     This 

21* 


24^6  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

in  itself,  in  one  with  so  active  a  brain  and  restless  an  or- 
ganization as  his,  was  rather  an  ominous  sign.  In  the  brief 
moments  of  intercourse  I  had  with  him,  the  feminine  sweetness 
and  gentleness  of  manner  which  always  characterized  him  was 
very  marked  and  very  touching.  The  determination  that  he 
should  stop  at  Halifax  was  come  to  before  dinner  on  the  30th, 
and  all  preparations  were  duly  made  to  have  him  landed  so 
soon  as  we  should  reach  the  port.  This  was  not  accomplished 
until  midnight;  the  night  was  very  dark,  and  all  that  we  could 
see  of  the  town  was  a  mass  of  indistinct  gloom,  dotted  here 
and  there  with  twinkling  lights.  We  took  on  board  a  large 
number  of  passengers,  and  you  can  well  imagine  the  distract- 
ing hurry  and  confusion  of  such  a  scene ;  the  jostling  of  por- 
ters and  luggage,  the  trampling  of  restless  feet,  and  all  the 
while  the  escape-pipe  driving  one  into  madness  with  its  ear- 
piercing  hiss.  Mr.  Choate  walked  to  his  carriage,  leaning 
heavily  on  my  arm,  his  son's  attention  being  absorbed  by  the 
care  of  the  luggage.  He  moved  slowly  and  with  some  diffi- 
culty, taking  very  short  steps.  Two  carriages  had  been 
engaged,  by  some  misunderstanding,  but,  on  account  of  the 
luggage,  it  was  found  convenient  to  retain  them  both.  Mr. 
Choate  was  put  into  one  of  them,  alone,  without  any  incum- 
brance of  trunk  or  bag,  and  his  son  with  the  luggage  occupied 
the  other.  When  the  moment  for  driving  off  came,  I  could 
not  bear  to  see  him  carried  out  into  the  unknown  darkness 
unaccompanied,  and  I  asked  Capt.  Leitch,  who  was  with  us,  — 
and  whose  thoughtful  kindness  I  shall  never  forget, — how  long 
a  time  I  might  have  to  drive  up  into  the  town ;  and  he  replied, 
half  an  hour.  Hearing  that  the  inn,  or  boarding-house,  to 
which  we  were  directed,  was  but  half  a  mile  off,  I  entered  the 
coach,  sat  by  his  side,  and  off  we  went  through  the  silent  and 
gloomy  streets.  The  half-mile  stretched  out  into  a  long  mile, 
and  when  we  had  reached  the  house,  and  I  had  deposited  Mr. 
Choate  on  a  sofa  in  the  sitting-room,  the  landlady  appalled  me 
by  saying  that  she  had  not  an  unoccupied  bed  in  the  house, 
and  could  not  accommodate  him.     Her  words  fell  upon  my 

heart  like  a  blow In  the  mean  time  the 

inexorable  moments  were  slipping  away,  and  I  was  compelled 
to  leave  the  house.  I  heard  an  airy  voice  calling  me  out  of 
the  darkness,  and  I  could  not  by  a  moment  enlarge  the  cap- 


1858-1859.]  LAST  NIGHT   ALIVE.  O^^ 

tain's  leave.  I  left  Mr.  Choate  upon  the  sofa,  pale  and 
exhausted,  but  patient  and  uncomplaining-,  his  luggag-e  in  the 
street  at  the  door,  and  his  son  at  that  midnight  hour  wandering 
about  ilie  streets  of  Halifax,  seeking  a  temporary  shelter  for  a 
dying  father,  with  what  result  I  have  not  yet  heard.  What 
with  the  sense  of  hurry,  the  irritation  of  this  mischance,  and 
the  consciousness  that  I  had  seen  my  eminent  friend  for  the 
last  time,  I  drove  back  to  the  boat  with  a  very  sore  heart. 
There  are  some  passages  in  our  lives  which  stamp  themselves 
upon  the  memory  with  peculiar  force  and  distinctness.  Such 
were  my  midnight  experiences  at  Halifax ;  if  I  should  live  to 
be  a  hundred  years  old,  they  would  be  as  fresh  before  the 
mind's  eye  as  they  are  now." 

After  Mr.  Hillard  left,  a  room  was  secured  in  what  proved 
to  be  a  very  pleasant  boarding-house,  not  far  distant  from  the 
one  to  which  he  first  drove.  It  was  in  the  third  story,  and 
overlooked  the  harbor.  Mr.  Choate  was  too  weak  to  ascend 
the  stairs  that  night,-^  but  slept  well  in  a  lower  room,  and  the 
next  morning  was  able  to  mount  to  his  own.  He  immediately 
took  to  his  bed,  which  he  never  again  left.  At  the  suggestion 
of  the  American  Consul,  Dr.  Domville,  surgeon  on  board 
the  flag-ship  of  the  Admiral  then  in  command  of  the  Brit- 
ish fleet  on  the  North  American  station,  was  called  in,  and 
through  his  prescriptions  the  most  unfavorable  symptoms  were 
soon  alleviated.  From  day  to  day  he  remained  nearly  the 
same,  rising  from  his  bed  only  to  have  it  made,  talking  but  lit- 
tle, watching  —  with  the  old,  habitual  love  of  the  sea  —  as  he 
could  without  raising  his  head  from  the  pillow,  the  unloading 
of  the  ships,  and  the  vessels  moving  in  the  harbor.  "  If  a 
schooner  or  sloop  goes  by,"  he  once  said,  when  dropping  into 
a  doze,  "  don't  disturb  me,  but  if  there  is  a  square-rigged 
vessel,  wake  me  up."  By  night  his  son  sat  by  his  side  till  he 
was  sound  asleep,  when,  by  his  special  request,  he  was  left 
alone,  and  usually  slept  well.  Only  one  night  did  he  seem  at 
all  unlike  himself,  when  being  oppressed  for  breath,  he  seemed 
to  imagine  that  people  were  crowding  round  the  bed.  His 
books  were  read  to  him :  Shakspeare,  (The  Tempest),  Bacon's 
Advancement  of  Learning,  Macaulay's  History,  The  Six  Days 

1  He  was   so  feeble  that,  in    goinij;     forward  in  the   carriage  and  was  not 
from  one  house  to  the  other,  he  fell    able  to  raise  himself 


248  MEMOIR  OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

of  Creation,  Gray's  Poem  on  Adversity,  (he  selecting  it,) 
Luther  on  the  Psahns,  and  more  variously  and  constantly  than 
all,  the  Bible.  He  talked  much  of  home,  making  little  plans 
about  the  best  way  of  getting  there ;  talked  of  sending  for  his 
family  to  come  to  him,  but  thought  he  should  recruit  so  soon 
that  it  would  be  of  no  use ;  talked  about  Essex,  of  wanting  to 
go  down  there  and  having  a  boat  built  for  him,  discussing  her 
size  and  rig.  He  was  constantly  cheerful,  pleasant,  and  hope- 
ful, and  on  the  12th  of  July,  according  to  Dr.  Domville, 
appeared  better  than  on  any  previous  day,  and  was  led  to 
indulge  the  hope  that  he  would  shortly  be  sufficiently  restored 
to  make  a  journey  homeward  or  elsewhere.  It  was  otherwise 
ordered.     The  great  shadow  was  fast  sweeping  over  him. 

At  his  usual  hour  on  that  day,  about  five  o'clock,  he  ate  as 
hearty  a  dinner  as  usual,  bolstered  up  in  bed,  and  conversing 
at  the  same  time  with  his  natural  vivacity.  Shortly  after  he 
had  finished,  his  son,  who  was  in  the  room,  was  startled  by 
hearing  him  asking  for  something  indistinctly  and  in  a  pe- 
culiar tone ;  and  going  to  him,  inquired  if  he  did  not  feel 
well.  He  said.  No  —  that  he  felt  very  faint.  These  were  the 
last  words  he  ever  uttered.  He  was  raised  and  supported 
in  the  bed  ;  the  remedies  at  hand  were  freely  applied,  and 
the  physician  at  once  summoned.  But  the  end  was  at  hand. 
His  eyes  closed,  opened  again,  but  with  no  apparent  recog- 
nition ;  a  slight  struggle  passed  over  his  frame,  and  conscious- 
ness was  extinguished  forever.  A  heavy  breathing  alone 
showed  that  life  remained.  It  continued  till  twenty  minutes 
before  two  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  July  13,  when  it  ceased, 
and  all  was  still.-^ 

Among  strangers  as  he  was,  his  illness  had  awakened  a 
general  sympathy,  and  prompted  the  kindest  attentions.  "  All 
classes,  from  the  Governor,  Lord  Mulgrave,  down,  proffered 
during  his  illness  all  that  their  several  resources  aftbrded ;  " 
and  his  death,  so  sudden  and  unexpected,  "  cast  a  gloom  over 
the  entire  community."  ^  A  meeting  of  the  Bench  and  Bar 
of  the  city,  presided  over  by  the  venerable  Chief  Justice,  Sir 
Brenton  Haliburton,  was  immediately  held  in  testimony  of  re- 

1  An   autopsy,  made   after   the   re-  with  what  is  known  to  physicians  as 

mains   had    reached    Boston,   showed  "  Bright's  disease."    The  brain  was  not 

tliat  the  lieart  and  Uings  were  entirely  examined, 

healthy.     The  kidneys  were  aflected  2  Letter  from  Dr.  Domville. 


1858-1859.]         MEETING   OF   THE   SUFFOLK  BAR.  Q49 

spect  and  sympathy.  The  sad  tidings  were  at  once  spread 
by  teleg-raph  over  the  United  States,  and  everywhere  evoked 
a  similar  response.  The  press,  of  all  parties  and  persuasions, 
and  in  every  part  of  the  country,  was  unanimous  in  its  tribute 
of  respect.  Meetings  were  held  in  many  cities  and  towns  in 
many  States,  to  give  utterance  to  the  general  sorrow.  Among 
the  letters  which  came  from  various  parts  of  the  country,  the 
following  was  received  from  President  Buchanan  :  — 

"  Washington,  18th  Jul}',  1859. 
"  Mt  dear  Sir,  —  I  deeply  regret  the  death  of  Mr.  Choate.  I  con- 
sider his  loss,  at  the  present  time,  to  be  a  great  public  misfortune.  He 
was  an  unselfish  patriot,  —  devoted  to  the  Constitution  and  the  Union; 
and  the  moral  influence  of  his  precept  and  his  example  would  have  con- 
tributed much  to  restore  the  ancient  peace  and  harmony  among  the  dif- 
ferent members  of  the  Confederacy.  In  him  '  the  elements  were  so 
combined,'  that  all  his  acquaintances  became  his  devoted  friends.  So 
far  as  I  know,  even  party  malevolence  spared  him^  He  was  pure  and 
incorruptible ;  and  in  all  our  intercourse  I  liave  never  known  him  to 
utter  or  insinuate  a  sentiment  respecting  public  affairs  which  was  not  of 
a  high  tone  and  elevated  character.  Yours,  very  respectfully, 

"  Jajies  Buchaxan." 

But  nowhere  was  there  a  deeper  or  more  prevailing  feeling 
than  among  the  members  of  the  Essex  Bar,  with  whom  he 
began  and  with  whom  he  closed  his  labors,  and  in  Boston 
where  his  greatest  legal  triumj)hs  were  achieved.  Many  cler- 
gymen noticed  the  loss  in  their  public  discourses.  The  Mer- 
cantile Library  Association  ;  the  Young  Men's  Democratic 
Club ;  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society ;  the  Municipal 
Corporation ;  the  Uourts  of  the  State,  and  of  the  United 
States;  the  Faculty  and  Alumni  of  Dartmouth  College,  where 
he  was  graduated  just  forty  years  before ;  the  Bar  of  New 
York,  and  many  other  public  bodies,  met  to  express  their 
sense  of  the  loss.  The  Suffolk  Bar  at  once  appointed  a  com- 
mittee to  draw  up  and  present  a  series  of  resolutions ;  and 
seldom  has  there  been  expression  of  sincerer  or  deeper  grief 
than  at  the  meeting  which  followed.  His  brethren  of  the 
Bar  spoke  with  suffused  eye  and  tremulous  lip.  Of  the  many 
addresses  and  communications,  difficult  as  it  is  to  discriminate 
between  them  on  the  score  of  fitness  and  general  excellence,  a 
few  may  be  selected  as  indicative  of  the  spirit  of  all. 


250  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 


FROM   THE   ADDRESS   OF   HON.    CHARLES    G.   LORING,  AT   A 
MEETING   OF  THE   SUFFOLK   BAR. 

"  Mr,  Chairman,  —  I  am  instructed  by  the  committee 
appointed  at  a  meeting  of  which  this  is  an  adjournment,  to 
present  for  its  consideration  a  series  of  resolutions,  the  adoption 
of  which  they  recommend  as  commemorative  of  the  sense  en- 
tertained by  the  members  of  the  Suffolk  Bar,  of  the  afflicting 
event  which  has  recently  befallen  them.  And  in  discharging 
that  duty,  I  crave  indulgence,  as  one  of  the  eldest  among  them, 
to  say  a  few  words  upon  the  sad  theme  which  fills  our  hearts, 
though  the  state  of  my  health  would  forbid  any  elaborate  at- 
tempt at  adequate  description  of  the  marvellous  combination 
of  genius,  learning,  and  ability,  characteristic  of  our  departed 
brother,  or  any  fitting  eulogium  upon  his  life  and  character. 

"  Of  his  gifts  and  attainments  as  a  lawyer  and  as  an  orator, 
not  only  this  bar,  but  the  national  forum  and  the  legislative 
halls  of  the  Commonwealth,  and  of  the  United  States,  have 
been  witnesses  ;  while  his  scholastic  efforts,  on  many  varying 
occasions,  have  been  heard  and  read  by  admiring  multitudes, 
whose  remembrance  of  them  is  still  fresh  and  full.  And  if- — 
not  relying  only  upon  our  own  affectionate  and  perhaps  partial 
judgments  —  we  may  trust  the  general  expression  of  the  press 
throughout  the  land,  it  is  no  unbecoming  exaggeration  to  say 
that  in  the  death  of  our  friend  the  nation  has  lost  one  of  the 
most  gifted  and  distinguished  lawyers  and  orators,  and  one  of 
the  most  refined  and  accomplished  scholars,  that  have  adorned 
its  forensic,  legislative,  or  literary  annals. 

"  Having  been  for  more  than  twenty  years  after  Mr.  Choate 
came  to  this  bar,  his  antagonist  in  forensic  struggles,  at  the 
least,  I  believe,  as  frequently  as  any  other  member  of  it,  I 
may  well  be  competent  to  bear  witness  to  his  peculiar  abilities, 
resources,  and  manners  in  professional  service.  And  having, 
in  the  varied  experiences  of  nearly  forty  years,  not  infre- 
quently encountered  some  of  the  giants  of  the  law,  whose 
lives  and  memories  have  contributed  to  render  this  bar  illus- 
trious throughout  the  land,  —  among  whom  I  may  include  the 
honored  names  of  Prescott,  Mason,  Hubbard,  Webster,  and 
Dexter,  and  others  among  the  dead,  and  those  of  others  yet 
with  us,  to  share  in  the  sorrows  of  this  hour,  —  I  do  no  in- 


1858-1859.]         ADDRESS    OF   HON.   C.   G.   LORING.  251 

justice  to  the  living'  or  the  dead  in  saying-,  that  for  the  pecuhar 
powers  desirable  for  a  lawyer  and  advocate,  for  combination  of 
accurate  memory,  logical  acumen,  vivid  imagination,  profound 
learning  in  the  law,  exuberance  of  literary  knowledge  and 
command  of  language,  united  with  strategic  skill,  I  should 
place  him  at  the  head  of  all  whom  I  have  ever  seen  in  the 
management  of  a  cause  at  the  bar. 

"  No  one  who  has  not  been  frequently  his  antagonist  in  in- 
tricate and  balanced  cases,  can  have  adequate  conception  of  his 
wonderful  powers  and  resources  ;  and  especially  in  desperate 
emergencies,  when  his  seemingly  assured  defeat  has  terminated 
in  victory. 

"  His  remembrance  of  every  fact,  suggestion,  or  implication 
involved  in  the  testimony,  of  even  the  remotest  admission  by 
his  adversary,  —  his  ready  knowledge  and  application  of  every 
principle  of  law  called  for  at  the  moment,  —  his  long  forecast 
and  ever  watchful  attention  to  every  new  phase  of  the  case, 
however  slight, — his  incredible  power  of  clear  and  brilliant 
illustration,  —  his  unexampled  exuberance  of  rich  and  glow- 
ing language, — his  wonderfully  methodic  arrangement,  where 
method  would  best  serve  him,  and  no  less  wonderful  power  of 
dislocation  and  confusion  of  forces,  when  method  would  not 
serve  him, — his  incredible  ingenuity  in  retreating  when  seem- 
ingly annihilated,  and  the  suddenness  and  impetuosity  with 
which,  changing  front,  he  returned  to  the  charge,  or  rallied  in 
another  and  unexpected  direction,  —  and  the  brilliant  fancy, 
the  peerless  beauty,  and  fascinating  glow  of  language  and  sen- 
timent, with  which,  when  law  and  facts  and  argument  were 
all  against  him,  he  could  raise  his  audience  above  them  all  as 
things  of  earth,  while  insensibly  persuading  it  that  the  de- 
cision should  rest  upon  considerations  to  be  found  in  higher 
regions,  and  that  a  verdict  in  his  favor  was  demanded  by  some 
transcendent  equity  independent  of  them  all,  at  times  sur- 
passed all  previous  conceptions  of  human  ability. 

"  In  manner  and  deportment  at  the  bar,  as  everywhere,  our 
deceased  brother  was  not  only  unexceptionable,  but  an  eminent 
example  of  what  a  lawyer  should  be.  Always  dignified  and 
graceful  in  his  bearing  toward  his  professional  brethren,  and 
deferential  to  the  court,  and  always  self-possessed  in  the  stormi- 
est seas, —  his  intensity  of  language  being,  as  I  ever  thought. 


Q52  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS    CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

the  effect  of  a  strongly  excited  imagination,  combined  with 
peculiar  nervous  energy,  rather  than  arising  from  otherwise 
deep  emotions  or  excited  feelings  —  he  rarely  permitted  him- 
self to  indulge  in  personalities,  and  never  in  those  of  an  of- 
fensive and  degrading  nature,  the  indulgence  of  which  is  ever 
to  be  deplored,  as  alike  discreditable  to  the  individual  and  the 
profession,  of  which,  for  the  time  being,  every  advocate  should 
feel  himself  to  be  the  public  representative. 

"  Nor  can  I  leave  this  theme  without  thus  publicly  reaffirm- 
ing, what  it  has  been  my  constant  pleasure  to  say  of  him 
throughout  all  our  long  years  of  exasperating  conflicts,  that 
he  was  the  best  tempered  and  most  amiable  man  in  contro- 
versy whom  I  ever  encountered  ;  nor  will  I  hesitate  to  add 
that  his  example  has  at  times  winged  the  arrow  of  self- 
reproach  that  it  was  not  better  followed. 

"  Of  Mr.  Choate's  power  and  attainments  as  a  scholar,  so 
conspicuous  and  extensive,  I  forbear  to  speak  further  than  to 
say  that  the  bar  of  the  whole  country  owes  to  him  the  debt 
of  gratitude  for  exhibiting  an  example  so  illustrious  of  the 
strength,  dignity,  and  beauty  which  forensic  discussion  may 
draw  from  the  fields  of  literature  and  art,  with  whose  treas- 
ures he  often  adorned  his  arguments  in  rich  exuberance, 
though  never  with  the  slightest  savor  of  pedantry  or  affec- 
tation. 

"  We  have  fought  many  hardly  contested  forensic  fields, 
but  ever  met,  as  I  trust  and  believe,  on  neutral  ground,  in 
mutual,  cordial  good-will  —  and  many  are  the  delightful  hours 
I  have  passed  in  his  society  —  in  the  enjoyment  of  his  genial 
nature,  fascinating  exuberance  of  fancy  and  learning,  and  ex- 
quisite wit ;  but  the  silver  cord  is  loosed,  the  golden  bowl  is 
brolcen,  and  the  wheel  broken  at  the  cistern  ;  and  it  is  only 
left  for  me  to  lay  a  worthless,  fading  chaplet  on  his  grave." 


REMARKS   OF  RICHARD  H.  DANA,  JR.,  ESQ. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  —  By  your  courtesy,  and  the  courtesy  of 
this  bar,  which  never  fails,  I  occupy  an  earlier  moment  than 
I  should  otherwise  be  entitled  to ;  for  the  reason,  that  in  a 
few  hours  I  shall  be  called  upon  to  take  a  long  leave  of  the 
bar  and  of  my  home.     I  cannot  do  that.  Sir,  —  I  cannot  do 


1858-1859.]  REMARKS   OF  R.  H.  DANA,  JR.  Q53 

that,  without  rising  to  say  one  word  of  what  I  know  and  feel 
upon  this  sad  loss. 

"  The  pressure  which  lias  been  upon  me  in  tlie  last  few 
days  of  my  remaining  here,  has  prevented  my  makino-  that 
kind  of  preparation  which  the  exaniple  of  him  whom  we  com- 
memorate requires  of  every  man  about  to  address  a  fit  audi- 
ence upon  a  great  subject.  I  can  only  speak  right  on  what 
I  do  feel  and  know. 

"'The  wine  of  life  is  drawn.'  The  'golden  bowl  is 
broken.'  The  age  of  miracles  has  passed.  The  day  of 
inspiration  is  over.  The  Great  Conqueror,  unseen  and  irre- 
sistible, has  broken  into  our  temple  and  has  carried  off  the 
vessels  of  gold,  the  vessels  of  silver,  the  precious  stones,  the 
jewels,  and  the  ivory  ;  and,  like  the  priests  of  the  Temple  of 
Jerusalem,  after  the  invasion  from  Babylon,  we  must  content 
ourselv^es,  as  we  can,  with  vessels  of  wood  and  of  stone  and 
of  iron. 

"  With  such  broken  phrases  as  these,  Mr.  Chairman,  per- 
haps not  altogether  just  to  the  living,  we  endeavor  to  express 
the  emotions  natural  to  this  hour  of  our  bereavement.  Talent, 
industry,  eloquence,  and  learning  there  are  still,  and  always 
will  be,  at  the  Bar  of  Boston.  But  if  I  say  that  the  age  of 
miracles  has  passed,  that  the  day  of  inspiration  is  over, —  if  I 
cannot  realize  that  in  this  place  where  we  now  are,  the  cloth 
of  gold  was  spread,  and  a  banquet  set  fit  for  the  gods,  —  I 
know,  Sir,  you  will  excuse  it.  Any  one  who  has  lived  with 
him  and  now  survives  him,  will  excuse  it,  —  any  one  who,  like 
the  youth  in  Wordsworth's  ode, 

'  by  the  vision  splendid, 
Is  on  his  way  attended, 
At  length  ....  perceives  it  die  away. 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day.' 

"  Sir,  I  speak  for  myself,  —  I  have  no  right  to  speak  for 
others, — but  I  can  truly  say,  without  any  exaggeration,  tak- 
ing for  the  moment  a  simile  from  that  element  which  he 
loved  as  much  as  I  love  it,  though  it  rose  against  his  life 
at  last,  —  that  in  his  presence  I  felt  like  the  master  of  a 
small  coasting  vessel,  that  hugs  the  shore,  that  has  run  up 
under  the  lee  to  speak  a  great  homeward  bound  Indiaman, 
freighted  with  silks  and  precious  stones,  spices  and  costly 
VOL.  I.  22 


254  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

fabrics,  with  sky-sails  and  studding-sails  spread  to  the  breeze, 
with  the  nation's  flag  at  her  mast-head,  navigated  by  the  mys- 
terious science  of  the  fixed  stars,  and  not  unprepared  with 
weapons  of  defence,  her  decks  peopled  with  men  in  strange 
costumes,  speaking  of  strange  climes  and  distant  lands. 

"  All  loved  him,  especially  the  young.  He  never  asserted 
himself,  or  claimed  precedence,  to  the  injury  of  any  man's 
feelings.  Who  ever  knew  him  to  lose  temper  ?  Who  ever 
heard  from  him  an  unkind  word'?  And  this  is  all  the  more 
strange  from  the  fact  of  his  great  sensitiveness  of  temperament. 

"  His  splendid  talents  as  an  orator  need  no  commendation 
here.  The  world  knows  so  much.  The  world  knows  per- 
fectly well  that  juries  after  juries  have  returned  their  verdicts 
for  Mr.  Choate's  clients,  and  the  Court  has  entered  them 
upon  the  issues.  The  world  knows  how  he  electrified  vast 
audiences  in  his  more  popular  addresses ;  but,  Sir,  the  world 
has  not  known,  though  it  knows  better  now  than  it  did,  —  and 
the  testimony  of  those  better  competent  than  I  am  will  teacli 
it,  —  that  his  power  here  rested  not  merely  nor  chiefly  upon 
his  eloquence,  but  rested  principally  upon  his  philosophic  and 
dialectic  power.  He  was  the  greatest  master  of  logic  we  had 
amongst  us.  No  man  detected  a  fallacy  so  quickly,  or  ex- 
posed it  so  felicitously  as  he,  whether  in  scientific  terms  to  the 
bench,  or  popularly  to  the  jury  ;  and  who  could  play  with  a 
fallacy  as  he  could  ]  Ask  those  venerated  men  who  compose 
our  highest  tribunal,  with  whom  all  mere  rhetoric  is  worse 
than  wasted  when  their  minds  are  bent  to  the  single  purpose 
of  arriving  at  the  true  results  of  their  science,  —  ask  them 
wherein  lay  the  greatest  powder  of  Rufus  Choate,  and  they 
will  tell  you  it  lay  in  his  philosophy,  his  logic,  and  his 
learning. 

"  He  was,  Sir,  in  two  words,  a  unique  creation.  He  was 
a  strange  product  of  New  England.  Benjamin  Franklin, 
John  Adams,  Samuel  Dexter,  Daniel  Webster,  and  Jeremiah 
Mason,  seem  to  be  the  natural  products  of  the  soil ;  but  to  me 
this  great  man  always  seemed  as  not  having  an  origin  here  in 
New  England,  but  as  if,  by  the  side  of  our  wooden  buildings,  or 
by  the  side  of  our  time-enduring  granite,  there  had  risen,  like 
an  exhalation,  some  Oriental  structure,  with  the  domes  and 
glittering  minarets  of  the  Eastern  world.      Yet,  this  beautiful 


1858-1859.]  REMARKS    OF    R.  H.  DANA,  JR.  255 

fabric,  so  aerial,  was  founded  upon  a  rock.  AVe  know  he 
digged  his  foundation  deep,  and  laid  it  strong  and  sure. 

"  I  wished  to  say  a  word  as  to  his  wit,  but  time  would  fail 
me  to  speak  of  everything.  Yet,  without  reference  to  that, 
all  I  may  say  would  be  too  incomplete.  His  wit  did  not  raise 
an  uproarious  laugh,  but  created  an  inward  and  homefelt 
delight,  and  took  up  its  abode  in  your  memory.  The  casual 
word,  the  unexpected  answer  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  the 
remark  whispered  over  the  back  of  his  chair  while  the  docket 
was  calling,  you  repeated  to  the  next  man  you  met,  and  he  to 
the  next,  and  in  a  few  days  it  became  the  anecdote  of  the 
town.  When  as  lawyers  we  met  together,  in  tedious  hours, 
and  sought  to  entertain  ourselves,  we  found  we  did  better  with 
anecdotes  of  Mr.  Choate  than  on  our  own  original  resources. 

"  Beside  his  eloquence,  his  logical  power,  and  his  wit,  he 
possessed  deep  and  varied  learning.  His  learning  was  accu- 
rate, too.  He  could  put  his  hand  on  any  Massachusetts  case 
as  quick  as  the  judge  who  decided  it. 

"  But  if  I  were  asked  to  name  that  which  I  regard  as  his 
characteristic,  —  that  in  Avhich  he  diftlered  from  other  learned, 
logical,  and  eloquent  men  of  great  eminence,  —  I  should  say 
it  was  his  aesthetic  nature. 

"  Even  under  the  excitement  of  this  moment,  I  should  not 
compare  his  mind  in  the  point  of  mere  force  of  understanding 
(and,  indeed,  he  would  not  have  tolerated  such  a  comparison) 
with  Daniel  Webster ;  and  yet  I  think  we  have  a  right  to  say 
that,  in  his  esthetic  nature,  he  possessed  something  to  which 
the  minds  of  Franklin,  Adams,  Dexter,  Mason,  and  Webster, 
were  strangers. 

"  But  I  ask  pardon  of  the  bar.  I  am  not  desirous  of  mak- 
ing these  comparisons. 

"  I  need  not  say,  Sir,  Rufus  Choate  was  a  great  lawyer,  a 
great  jurist,  a  great  publicist,  but  more  than  all  that — and  I 
speak  of  that  Avhich  I  know  —  his  nature  partook  strongly  of 
the  poetic  element.  It  was  not  something  which  he  could  put 
on  or  off,  but  it  was  born  with  him  —  I  will  not  say  died  with 
him,  but  is  translated  with  him. 

"  Shakspeare  was  his  great  author.  I  would  have  defied 
even  the  Shakspeare  scholar  to  refer  to  any  passage  of  Shak- 
speare that  Mr.  Choate  would  not  have  recognized  instantly. 


256  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS    CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

Next  to  Shakspeare,  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  say  he  thought 
that  he  owed  more  to  Wordsworth  than  to  any  other  poet. 
He  studied  him  before  it  was  the  fashion,  and  before  his  high 
position  had  been  vindicated. 

"  Then  he  was,  of  course,  a  great  student  of  Milton,  and 
after  that,  I  think  that  those  poets  who  gained  the  affections 
of  his  youth,  and  wrote  when  he  was  young,  —  Byron,  Scott, 
Coleridge,  Southey,  —  had  his  affections  chiefly ;  though,  of 
course,  he  read  and  valued  and  studied  Spencer  and  Dryden, 
and,  as  a  satirist  and  a  maker  of  epigrams,  Pope.  This  love 
of  poetry  with  him  was  genuine  and  true.  He  read  and 
studied  always,  not  with  a  view  to  make  ornaments  for  his 
speeches,  but  because  his  nature  drew  him  to  it.  We  all 
know  he  was  a  fine  Greek  and  Latin  scholar  ;  was  accurate ; 
he  never  made  a  false  quantity.  Who  ever  detected  him  in  a 
misquotation  ^  He  once  told  me  he  never  allowed  a  day  to 
go  by  that  he  did  not  write  out  a  translation  from  some  Greek 
or  Latin  author.  This  was  one  of  the  means  by  which  he 
gained  his  affluence  of  language.  Of  Cicero  he  was  a  fre- 
quent student,  particularly  of  his  ethical  and  philosophical 
writings.     But  Greek  was  his  favorite  tongue. 

"  One  word  more.  Sir.  It  is  not  so  generally  known,  I  sup- 
pose, of  Mr.  Choate,  that,  certainly  during  the  last  ten  years 
of  his  life  he  gave  much  of  his  thoughts  to  those  noble  and 
elevating  problems  which  relate  to  the  nature  and  destiny  of 
man,  to  the  nature  of  God,  to  the  great  hereafter  ;  recogniz- 
ing. Sir,  that  great  truth  —  so  beautifully  expressed  in  his 
favorite  tongue — in  sacred  writ,  Ta  /x*)  /3Ae7ro/xem  alwvia —  things 
not  seen  are  eternal.  He  studied  not  merely  psychology  ;  he 
knew  well  the  great  schools  of  philosophy  ;  he  knew  well 
their  characteristics,  and  read  their  leading  men.  I  suspect 
he  was  the  first  man  in  this  community  who  read  Sir  William 
Hamilton,  and  Mansell's  work  on  '  The  Limits  of  Religious 
Thought;'  and  I  doubt  if  the  Chairs  of  Harvard  and  Yale 
were  more  familiar  with  the  English  and  German  mind,  and 
their  views  on  these  great  problems,  than  Mr.  Choate. 

"  He  carried  his  study  even  into  technical  theology.  He 
knew  its  genius  and  spirit  better  than  many  divines.  He 
knew  in  detail  the  great  dogmas  of  St.  Augustine  ;  and  he 
studied  and  knew  John  Calvin  and  Luther.      He   knew  the 


1858-1859.]  ADDRESS   OF   HON.   B.   R.    CURTIS.  g^y 

great  principles  which  lie  at  the  foundation  of  Catholic  theology 
and  institutions,  and  the  theology  of  the  Evangelical  school; 
and  he  knew  and  studied  the  rationalistic  writings  of  the  Ger- 
mans, and  was  familiar  with  their  theories  and  characteristics. 

"  With  all  those  persons  whom  he  met  and  who  he  felt, 
with  reasonable  confidence,  had  sufficient  elevation  to  value 
these  subjects,  he  conversed  upon  them  freely.  But  beyond 
this  —  as  to  his  opinions,  his  results  —  I  have  no  right  to 
speak.  I  only  wished  to  allude  to  a  few  of  the  more  promi- 
nent of  his  characteristics ;  and  it  is  peculiarly  gratifying  to 
remember,  at  this  moment,  that  he  had  the  elevation  of  mind 
so  to  lay  hold  upon  the  greatest  of  all  subjects. 

"  I  meant  to  have  spoken  of  his  studies  of  the  English 
prose  writers,  among  whom  Bacon  and  Burke  had  his  prefer- 
ence. But  he  read  them  all,  and  loved  to  read  them  all ;  from 
the  scholastic  stateliness  of  Milton,  warring  for  the  right  of 
expressing  thoughts  for  all  ages,  to  the  simplicity  of  Cowper's 
Letters. 

"  But  all  this  is  gone  for  us !  We  are  never  to  see  him 
again  in  the  places  that  knew  him.  To  think  that  he,  of  all 
men,  who  loved  his  home  so,  should  have  died  among  strang- 
ers !  That  he,  of  all  men,  should  have  died  under  a  foreign 
flag  !  I  can  go  no  further.  I  can  only  call  upon  all  to  bear 
witness  now,  and  to  the  next  generation,  that  he  stood  before 
us  an  example  of  eminence  in  science,  in  erudition,  in  genius, 
in  taste, — in  honor,  in  generosity,  in  humanity,  —  in  every 
liberal  sentiment,  and  every  liberal  accomplishment." 


ADDRESS  OF  HON.  BEN.JAMIN  E.  CURTIS  ON  PRESENTING  TO  THE  SU- 
PREME JUDICIAL  COURT  THE  RESOLUTIONS  OF  THE  SUFFOLK  BAR.— 
[Sept.  20,  1859.] 

"  3fay  it  please  your  Honor  : 

"  I  have  been  directed  by  the  Bar  of  the  county  of  Suffolk, 
to  present  to  the  Supreme  Judicial  Court  certain  resolutions 
adopted  by  them,  upon  the  decease  of  their  lamented  and  dis- 
tinguished brother,  Rufus  Choate,  and  to  request  the  Court  to 
have  these  resolutions  entered  on  record  here.  They  were 
adopted  at  a  meeting  of  the  members  of  this  bar,  held  in  this 
place  on  the  19th  day  of  July  last,  since  which  time  the  Su- 

22* 


258  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

preme  Judicial  Court  is  now  first  in  session  for  the  business  of 
the  County  of  Suffolk.  With  the  leave  of  the  Court  I  will  ask 
the  clerk  to  read  the  resolutions.  [The  clerk  read  the  resolu- 
tions, which  have  been  published  heretofore.] 

"  This  is  not  the  occasion,  nor  is  it  devolved  on  me,  to  pro- 
nounce a  eulogy  on  the  subject  of  these  resolutions,  whose 
death  in  the  midst  of  his  brilliant  and  important  career  has 
made  so  profound  an  impression  on  his  brethren  of  the  bar 
and  of  the  community  at  large.  The  Court  will  have  noticed 
that  by  one  of  the  resolutions  I  have  read,  other  suitable  pro- 
vision has  been  made  for  that  tribute  of  respect  to  him,  and 
for  doing  justice  to  their  sense  of  their  own  and  the  public 
loss.  But  the  relations  which  Mr.  Choate  long  sustained  to 
this  Court  have  been  too  conspicuous  and  too  important  to 
me  to  be  wholly  silent  here  respecting  them.  The  bench  and 
the  bar  are  mutually  dependent  on  each  other  for  that  coopera- 
tion which  is  essential  to  the  steady,  prompt,  and  successful  dis- 
tribution of  justice.  Without  the  assistance  and  support  of  a 
learned,  industrious,  able,  and  honest  bar,  it  is  not  too  much  to 
say  that  no  bench  in  this  country  can  sustain  itself,  and  its  most 
strenuous  exertions  can  result  only  in  a  halting  and  uncertain 
course  of  justice.  Without  a  learned,  patient,  just,  and  cour- 
ageous bench,  there  will  not  for  any  long  time  continue  to  be  a 
bar  fitted  for  its  high  and  difficult  duties. 

"When,  therefore,  one  of  their  nuuiber,  who  for  many  years 
has  exerted  his  great  and  brilliant  powers  in  this  forum,  has 
been  removed  by  death,  we  feel  that  in  its  annunciation  to  this 
Court,  we  make  known  a  fact  of  importance  to  itself,  and  that 
we  may  be  sure  of  its  sympathy,  and  of  its  appreciation  of 
what  is  indeed  a  common  loss.  You  have  witnessed  his  labors 
and  know  how  strenuous,  how  frequent,  how  great,  how  de- 
voted to  his  duty  they  have  been.  You  have  been  instructed 
by  his  learning  and  relieved  by  his  analysis  of  complicated 
controversies.  You  have  doubtless  been  delighted  by  his  elo- 
quence and  informed  and  interested  by  the  fruits  of  his  rich 
and  liberal  culture.  And  when  his  brethren  of  the  bar  come 
here  to  make  known  their  sense  of  their  loss,  they  cannot  be 
unmindful  that  to  you  also  it  is  a  loss,  not  in  one  day  to  be 
repaired. 

"  We  are  aware  that  it  has  sometimes  been  thought,  and  by 


1858-1859.]  ADDRESS    OF   HON.   B.    R.    CURTIS.  g^Q 

the  thoughtless  or  inexperienced  often  said,  that  from  his  hps 
'  With  fatal  sweetness  elocution  flowed.'  But  they  who  have 
thought  or  said  this,  have  but  an  imperfect  notion  of  the  na- 
ture of  our  judicial  controversies,  or  of  the  abiHty  for  the  dis- 
covery of  truth  and  justice  which  may  be  expected  here. 

"  Such  persons  begin  with  the  false  assumption  that  in  the 
complicated  cases  which  are  brought  to  trial  here,  one  party  is 
altogether  right  and  the  other  altogether  wrong.  They  are 
ignorant,  that  in  nearly  all  cases  there  is  truth  and  justice  and 
law  on  both  sides  ;  that  it  is  for  the  tribunal  to  discover  how 
much  of  these  belongs  to  each,  and  to  balance  them,  and  ascer- 
tain which  preponderates ;  and  that  so  artificial  are  the  greater 
portion  of  our  social  rights,  and  so  complex  the  facts  on  which 
they  depend,  that  it  is  only  by  means  of  such  an  investigation 
and  decision  that  it  can  be  certainly  known  on  which  side  the 
real  justice  is.  That,  consequentlv,  it  is  the  duty  of  the  advo- 
cate to  manifest  and  enforce  all  the  elements  of  justice,  truth, 
and  law  which  exist  on  one  side,  and  to  take  care  that  no  false 
appearances  of  those  great  realities  are  exhibited  on  the  other. 
That  while  the  zealous  discharge  of  this  duty  is  consistent  with 
the  most  devoted  loyalty  to  truth  and  justice,  it  calls  for  the 
exertion  of  the  highest  attainments  and  powers  of  the  lawyer 
and  the  advocate,  in  favor  of  the  particular  party  whose  inter- 
ests have  been  intrusted  to  his  care.  And  if  from  eloquence 
and  learning  and  skill  and  laborious  preparation  and  ceaseless 
vigilance,  so  preeminent  as  in  Mr.  Choate,  there  might  seem  to 
be  danger  that  the  scales  might  incline  to  the  wrong  side,  some 
compensation  would  be  made  by  the  increased  exertion  to  which 
that  seeming  danger  would  naturally  incite  his  opponents  ;  and 
I  am  happy  to  believe,  what  he  believed,  that  as  complete  secu- 
rity against  wrong  as  the  nature  of  human  institutions  will  per- 
mit, has  always  been  found  in  the  steadiness,  intelligence,  love 
of  justice,  and  legal  learning  of  the  tribunal  by  which  law  and 
fact  are  here  finally  determined. 

"  I  desire,  therefore,  on  this  occasion,  and  in  this  presence, 
and  in  behalf  of  my  brethren  of  this  bar,  to  declare  our  ap- 
preciation of  the  injustice  which  would  be  done  to  this  great 
and  eloquent  advocate  by  attributing  to  him  any  want  of  loy- 
alty to  truth,  or  any  deference  to  wrong,  because  he  employed 
all  his  great  powers  and  attainments,  and  used  to  the  utmost  his 


2(30  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

consummate  skill  and  eloquence,  in  exhibiting  and  enforcing 
the  comparative  merits  of  one  side  of  the  cases  in  which  he 
acted.  In  doing  so  he  but  did  his  duty.  If  other  people 
did  theirs,  the  administration  of  justice  was  secured. 

"  A  trial  in  a  court  of  justice  has  been  fitly  termed  a  drama 
in  which  the  actors,  the  events,  and  the  passions  were  all  reali- 
ties ;  and  of  the  parts  which  the  members  of  the  legal  profes- 
sion play  therein,  it  was  once  said,  by  one  who,  I  think,  should 
have  known  better,  that  they  are  brawlers  for  hire.  I  believe 
the  charge  can  have  no  general  application  —  certainly  not  to 
those  who,  within  my  experience,  have  practised  at  this  bar, 
where  good  manners  have  been  as  common  as  good  learning. 
At  all  events,  he  of  whom  I  speak  was  a  signal  example  that 
all  lawyers  are  not  brawlers. 

"  For,  among  other  things  most  worthy  to  be  remembered 
of  him,  he  showed,  in  the  most  convincing  manner,  that  fo- 
rensic strife  is  consistent  with  uniform  personal  kindness  and 
gentleness  of  demeanor  ;  that  mere  smartness,  or  aggressive 
and  irritating  captiousness,  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  most 
effective  conduct  of  a  cause  ;  that  the  business  of  an  advocate 
is  with  the  law  and  the  evidence,  and  not  in  provoking  or 
humbling  an  opponent ;  that  wrangling,  and  the  irritations 
which  spring  from  it,  obstruct  the  course  of  justice  ;  and  are 
indeed  twice  cursed,  for  they  injure  him  who  gives  and  him 
who  receives. 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  have  the  concurrence  of  the  Court  when 
I  say,  that  among  all  Mr.  Choate's  extraordinary  gifts  of  nat- 
ure and  graces  of  art,  there  was  nothing  more  remarkable  than 
the  sweetness  of  his  temper  and  the  courtesy  of  his  manners, 
both  to  the  bench  and  the  bar.  However  eager  might  be  the 
strife,  however  exhausting  the  toil,  however  anxious  the  care, 
—  these  were  never  lost.  The  recollection  of  them  is  now  in 
all  our  hearts. 

"  I  need  not  repeat  that  I  shall  make  no  attempt  to  draw 
even  an  outline  of  the  qualities  and  attainments  and  powers  of 
this  great  advocate.  Under  any  circumstances  I  should  dis- 
trust my  own  ability  for  the  work,  and  as  I  have  already  said, 
it  is  not  expected  of  me  here. 

"I  have  simply  to  move  this  Honorable  Court  to  receive 
these  resolutions,  and  direct  them  to  be  entered  of  record." 


1858-1859.]  REMARKS  OF  JUDGE  SPRAGUE.  OQl 

In  accordance  with  the  vote  of  the  Suffolk  Bar,  the  resolu- 
tions were  presented  to  the  United  States  District  Court  by 
the  District  Attorney,  and  the  following  reply  was  made  by 
Mr.  Justice  Sprague  :  — 

"  Notwithstanding  the  time  that  has  elapsed  since  the  death 
of  Mr,  Choate,  and  the  numerous  demonstrations  of  respect 
by  the  bar,  by  judicial  tribunals,  deliberative  bodies,  and  pop- 
ular assemblies,  still  it  is  proper  that  such  an  event  should  not 
pass  unnoticed  in  this  court.  Others  have  spoken  fully  and 
eloquently  of  his  eminence  and  excellence  in  various  depart- 
ments ;  we  may  here  at  least  appropriately  say  something  of 
him  as  a  lawyer  and  an  advocate.  His  life  was  mainly  devoted 
to  the  practice  of  his  profession,  and  this  court  was  the  scene 
of  many  of  his  greatest  efforts  and  highest  achievements.  I 
believe  him  to  have  been  the  most  accomplished  advocate  that 
this  country  has  produced.  With  extraordinary  genius  he 
united  unremitted  industry,  devoted  almost  exclusively  to  the 
law,  and  to  those  literary  studies  which  tend  most  directly  to 
accomplish  and  perfect  the  orator  and  the  advocate.  The 
result  was  wonderful.  His  command  of  lanffuasre  was  un- 
equalled.  I  certainly  have  heard  no  one  who  approached  him 
in  the  richness  of  his  vocabulary.  This  wealth  he  used  pro- 
fusely, but  with  a  discrimination,  a  felicity  of  expression,  and 
an  ease  and  flow,  which  was  truly  marvellous.  Although  to  the 
careless  or  unintelligent  hearer  his  words  would  sometimes 
seem  to  be  in  excess,  yet  to  the  attentive  and  cultivated  every 
word  had  its  appropriate  place  and  its  shade  of  meaning,  con- 
ducing more  or  less  to  the  perfection  of  the  picture.  To  those 
who  heard  Mr.  Choate  for  the  first  time,  it  would  seem  as 
though  this  ready  outpouring  of  choice  and  expressive  lan- 
guage must  be  the  result  of  special  preparation.  But  those 
who  have  heard  him  often,  especially  in  those  unforeseen  emer- 
gencies which  so  frequently  arise  in  the  trial  of  causes,  knew 
that  the  stream,  which  was  so  full  and  clear  and  brilliant, 
gushed  forth  from  a  fountain  as  exhaustless  as  Nature. 

'  Rusticus  expectat  dum  defluat  amnis, 
At  ille  labitur,  et  labetur  in  omne  volubilis  a3vum.' 

"  But  it  is  not  to  be  understood  by  any  means  that  Mr. 
Choate's  highest  merit  consisted  in  his  rhetoric.     That,  indeed, 


2Q2  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS  CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

was  the  most  striking.  But  those  who  had  most  profoundly 
considered  and  mastered  the  subject,  saw  that  the  matter  of 
liis  discourse,  the  thought,  was  worthy  of  the  drapery  with 
which  it  was  clothed.  His  mind  was  at  once  comprehensive 
and  acute.  No  judicial  question  was  too  enlarged  for  its 
vision,  and  none  too  minute  for  its  analysis.  To  the  Court 
he  could  present  arguments  learned,  logical,  and  profound,  or 
exquisitely  refined  and  subtle,  as  the  occasion  seemed  to  require. 
But  it  was  in  trials  before  a  jury  that  he  was  preeminent. 
Nothing  escaped  his  vigilance,  and  nothing  was  omitted  that 
could  contribute  to  a  verdict  for  his  client.  His  skill  in  the 
examination  of  witnesses  was  consummate.  I  have  never  seen 
it  equalled.  The  character  of  the  jury,  individually  and  col- 
lectively, was  not  overlooked,  and  their  opinions  and  prejudices 
were  not  only  respected,  but  soothed  and  conciliated  with  the 
utmost  tact  and  delicacy.  His  quickness  of  apprehension  and 
untiring  application  of  all  his  energies  to  the  cause  in  hand, 
gave  him  complete  mastery  of  his  materials.  His  self-posses- 
sion was  perfect.  However  suddenly  the  aspect  of  his  cause 
might  be  clouded  by  unexpected  developments,  he  was  never 
disconcerted.  He  had  wonderful  fertility  of  resources,  which 
were  always  at  instant  command,  and  seemed  to  multiply  with 
the  difficulties  which  called  them  forth.  Whatever  the  course 
previously  marked  out,  or  however  laboriously  a  position  had 
been  fortified,  they  were  without  hesitation  abandoned  the 
moment  that  a  new  exigency  rendered  it  expedient  to  take 
other  grounds,  and  the  transition  was  often  effected  with  such 
facility  and  adroitness  that  his  opponent  found  himself  assailed 
from  a  new  quarter  before  he  had  suspected  a  change  of 
position. 

"  In  his  arguments,  not  only  was  each  topic  presented  in  all 
its  force,  but  they  were  all  arranged  with  artistic  skill,  so 
as  mutually  to  sustain  and  strengthen  each  other,  and  present 
a  harmonious  and  imposing  whole.  He  usually  began  his 
address  to  the  jury  with  a  rapid  and  comprehensive  view  of 
the  whole  trial,  in  which  he  grouped  and  made  strikingly 
prominent  the  circumstances  which  would  make  the  strongest 
impression  of  the  fairness  of  his  client  and  the  justness  of  his 
cause  ;  thus  securing  the  sympathy  and  good  wishes  of  the 
jury,  while  he  should  take  them  with  him  through  that  fulness 


1858-1859.]  REMARKS  OF  JUDGE  SPRAGUE.  OQg 

of  detail  and  that  searching-  analysis  which  was  sure  to  follow. 
However  protracted  his  arguments,  they  were  listened  to 
throughout  with  eager  attention.  His  matter,  manner,  and 
diction,  created  such  interest  and  pleasure  in  what  was  uttered, 
and  such  expectation  of  new  and  striking  thoughts  and  exjjres- 
sions  to  come,  that  attention  could  not  be  withdrawn.  With 
a  memory  stored  with  the  choicest  literature  of  our  own  and 
other  languages,  and  a  strong,  vivid,  and  prolific  imagination, 
his  argument  was  rarely  decked  with  flowers.  It  presented 
rather  the  grave  and  gorgeous  foliage  of  our  resplendent 
autumn  forest,  infinite  in  richness  and  variety,  but  from  which 
we  should  hardly  be  willing  to  spare  a  leaf  or  a  tint.  Such 
was  his  genius,  his  opulence  of  thought  and  intenseness  of 
expression,  that  we  involuntarily  speak  of  him  in  unmeasured 
and  unqualified  terms. 

"  The  characteristic  which  perhaps  has  been  most  dwelt  u})on 
by  those  who  have  spoken  of  Mr.  Choate,  was  his  invincible 
good  temper.  This  especially  endeared  him,  not  only  to  his 
brethren  of  the  bar,  but,  also,  to  the  bench.  Anxious,  earnest, 
and  even  vehement,  in  his  advocacy,  and  sometimes  sufl'ering 
from  disease,  still  no  vicissitude  or  vexations  of  the  cause,  or 
annoyance  from  opponents,  could  infuse  into  his  address  any 
tinge  of  bitterness,  or  cause  him  for  a  moment  to  forget  his 
habitual  courtesy  and  kindness.  He  never  made  assaults  upon 
opposing  counsel,  and  if  made  on  him,  they  were  repelled  with 
mildness  and  forbearance.  If,  indeed,  his  opponent  sometimes 
felt  the  keen  point  of  a  pungent  remark,  it  seemed  rather  to 
have  slipped  from  an  overfull  quiver  than  to  have  been  inten- 
tionally hurled.  This  abstinence  was  the  more  meritorious, 
because  the  temptation  of  superabundant  ability  was  not 
wanting. 

"  We  can  hardly  measure  his  power  for  evil  if  he  had  stud- 
ied the  language  of  offence,  and  turned  his  eloquence  into  the 
channels  of  vituperation.  But  against  this  perversion  he  was 
secured  by  his  kindly  nature.  I  am  sure  that  it  would  have 
been  to  him  a  source  of  anguish  to  believe  that  he  had  inflicted 
a  wound  which  rankled  in  the  breast  of  another. 

"  No  man  was  more  exempt  from  vanity.  He  seemed  to 
have  no  thought  for  himself,  but  only  for  his  client  and  his 
cause.     The   verdict  w^as   kept   steadily  in   view.     His   most 


2g4  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS  CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

brilliant  efforts  had  no  indication  of  self-exhibition  or  display. 
Mai^-nificent  as  they  were,  they  seemed  to  be  almost  involun- 
tary outpourings  from  a  fulness  of  thought  and  language  that 
could  not  be  repressed.  From  feeling,  reflection,  and  habit, 
he  was  a  supporter  of  law,  and  of  that  order  which  is  the 
result  of  its  regular  administration.  He  was  truly  a  friend  of 
the  Court,  and  his  manner  to  them  was  invariably  respectful 
and  deferential.  He  took  an  enlightened  view  of  their  duties, 
and  appreciated  their  difficulties;  and  received  their  judg- 
ments, even  when  adverse  to  his  wishes,  if  not  always  with 
entire  acquiescence,  at  least  with  candor  and  graceful  submis- 
sion. We  cannot  but  sympathize  with  the  bar  in  a  bereave- 
ment which  has  taken  from  us  such  an  associate  and  friend, 
by  whom  the  Court  has  been  so  often  enlightened  and  aided 
in  their  labors,  and  whose  rare  gifts  contributed  to  make  the 
'  light  of  jurisprudence  gladsome.'  " 

On  Friday,  the  22d  of  July,  a  public  meeting  of  the  citizens 
of  Boston  was  held  in  Faneuil  Hall.  The  darkened  wiudows, 
the  burning  gas-lights,  the  pillars  and  galleries  covered  with 
mourning  drapery,  the  heavy  festoons  stretching  from  the 
centre  of  the  ceiling  to  the  capitals  of  the  pillars,  the  quiet 
crowd  weighed  down  as  by  a  general  calamity,  all  spoke  the 
one  language  of  bereavement  and  grief.  Addresses  were 
made  by  many  distinguished  persons,  and  among  others,  by 
Mr.  Everett,  who  spoke  as  follows  :  — 

ADDRESS   OF   MR.  EVERETT. 

"Mr.  Mayor  and  Fellow-Citizens, — I  obey  the  only  call 
which  could  with  propriety  have  drawn  me  at  this  time  from 
my  retirement,  in  accepting  your  invitation  to  unite  with  you 
in  the  melancholy  duties  which  we  are  assembled  to  perform. 
While  I  speak.  Sir,  the  lifeless  remains  of  our  dear  departed 
friend  are  expected  ;  it  may  be  have  already  returned  to  his 
bereaved  home.  We  sent  him  forth,  but  a  few  days  since,  in 
search  of  health  ;  the  exquisite  bodily  organization  over-tasked 
and  shattered,  but  the  master  intellect  still  shining  in  unclouded 
strength.  Anxious,  but  not  desponding,  we  sent  him  forth,  hop- 
ing that  the  bracing  air  of  the  ocean,  which  he  greatly  loved, 
the  respite  from  labor,  the  change  of  scene,  the  cheerful  inter- 


1858-1859.]  ADDRESS    OF   MR.   EVERETT.  QQQ 

course  which  he  was  so  well  calculated  to  enjoy  with  congenial 
spirits  abroad,  would  return  him  to  us  refreshed  and  renovated ; 
but  he  has  coine  back  to  us  dust  and  ashes,  a  pilgrim  already 
on  his  way  to 

'  The  undiscovered  country,  from  whose  bourne 
No  traveller  returns.' 

"  How  could  I  refuse  to  bear  my  humble  part  in  the  tribute 
of  respect  which  you  are  assembled  to  pay  to  the  memory  of 
such  a  man  !  —  a  man  not  only  honored  by  me,  in  common  with 
the  whole  country,  but  tenderly  cherished  as  a  faithful  friend, 
from  the  morning  of  his  days,  and  almost  from  the  morning 
of  mine, — one  with  whom  through  life  I  was  delighted  to  take 
sweet  counsel,  for  whom  I  felt  an  affection  never  chilled  for  a  mo- 
ment, during  forty  years  since  it  sprung  up.  I  knew  our  dear 
friend,  Sir,  from  the  time  that  he  entered  the  Law  School  at 
Cambridge.  I  was  associated  with  him  as  one  of  the  Massachu- 
setts delegation  in  the  House  of  Representatives  of  the  United 
States,  between  whom  and  myself  there  was  an  entire  com- 
munity of  feeling  and  opinion  on  all  questions  of  men  and 
measures  ;  and  with  whom,  in  these  later  years,  as  his  near 
neighbor,  and  especially  when  sickness  confined  him  at  home, 
I  have  enjoyed  opportunities  of  the  most  intimate  social  inter- 
course. 

"  Now  that  he  is  gone.  Sir,  I  feel  that  one  more  is  taken  away 
of  those  most  trusted  and  loved,  and  with  whom  I  had  most 
hoped  to  finish  the  journey  ;  nay.  Sir,  one  whom,  in  the  course 
of  nature,  I  should  have  preceded  to  its  end,  and  who  would 
have  performed  for  me  the  last  kindly  office,  which  I,  with 
drooping  spirit,  would  fain  perform  for  him. 

"  But  although  with  a  willing  heart  I  undertake  the  duty 
you  have  devolved  upon  me,  I  cannot  but  feel  how  little  re- 
mains to  be  said.  It  is  but  echoing  the  voice,  which  has  been 
heard  from  every  part  of  the  country,  —  from  the  Bar,  from 
the  Press,  from  every  Association  by  which  it  could  with  pro- 
priety be  uttered,  —  to  say  that  he  stood  at  the  head  of  his 
profession  in  this  country. 

"  If,  in  his  own  or  in  any  other  part  of  the  Union,  there 
was  his  superior  in  any  branch  of  legal  knowledge,  there  was 
certainly  no  one   who   united,  to  the   same   extent,   profound 

VOL.  I.  23 


2QQ  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

learning-  in  the  law,  with  a  range  almost  boundless  of  miscel- 
laneous reading,  reasoning  powers  of  the  highest  order,  intui- 
tive quickness  of  perception,  a  wariness  and  circumspection 
never  taken  by  surprise,  and  an  imagination,  which  rose,  on  a 
bold  and  easy  wing  to  tlie  highest  heaven  of  invention.  These 
powers,  trained  by  diligent  cultivation,  —  these  attainments, 
combined  and  a))pHed  with  sound  judgment,  consummate  skill 
and  exquisite  taste,  necessarily  placed  him  at  the  head  of  the 
profession  of  his  choice ;  where,  since  the  death  of  Mr.  Web- 
ster, he  shone  without  a  rival. 

"  With  such  endowments  formed  at  the  best  schools  of  pro- 
fessional education,  exercised  with  unwearied  assiduity,  through 
a  long  professional  life,  under  the  spur  of  generous  ambition, 
and  the  heavy  responsibility  of  an  ever-growing  reputation  to 
be  sustained,  —  if  possible  to  be  raised,  —  he  cottid  fill  no 
second  place. 

"  But  he  did  not,  like  most  eminent  jurists,  content  himself 
with  the  learning  or  tlie  fame  of  his  profession.  He  was  more 
than  most  men  in  any  profession,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word, 
a  man  of  letters.  He  kept  up  his  Academical  studies  in  after- 
life. He  did  not  think  it  the  part  either  of  wisdom  or  good 
taste  to  leave  behind  him  at  school,  or  at  college,  the  noble 
languages  of  the  great  peoples  of  antiquity  ;  but  he  continued 
through  life  to  read  the  Greek  and  Roman  classics. 

"  He  was  also  familiar  with  the  whole  range  of  English  lit- 
erature ;  and  he  had  a  respectable  acquaintance  with  the  stand- 
ard French  authors.  This  wide  and  varied  circle  of  reading* 
not  only  gave  a  liberal  expansion  to  his  mind,  in  all  directions, 
but  it  endowed  him  with  a  great  wealth  of  choice  but  unstudied 
lansfuaofe,  and  enabled  him  to  command  a  richness  of  illustra- 
tion,  whatever  subject  he  had  in  hand,  beyond  most  of  our  pub- 
lic speakers  and  writers.  This  taste  for  reading  was  formed  in 
early  life.  While  he  was  at  the  Law  School  at  Cambridge,  I 
was  accustomed  to  meet  him  more  frequently  than  any  other 
person  of  his  standing  in  the  alcoves  of  the  library  of  the 
University. 

"  As  he  advanced  in  years,  and  acquired  the  means  of  grati- 
fying his  taste  in  this  respect,  he  formed  a  miscellaneous 
collection,  probably  as  valuable  as  any  other  in  Boston  ;  and 
he  was  accustomed  playfully  to  say  that  every  Saturday  after- 


1858-1850.]  ADDRESS  OF  MR.  EVERETT.  Qm' 

noon,  after  the  labor  of  the  week,  he  indulged  jiimself  in  buy- 
ing- and  bringing  home  a  new  book.  Thus  reading  with  a  keen 
relish,  as  a  relaxation  from  professional  toil,  and  with  a  memory 
that  nothing  worth  retaining  escaped,  he  became  a  living  store- 
house of  polite  literature,  out  of  which,  with  rare  felicity  and 
grace,  he  brought  forth  treasures  new  and  old,  not  deeming 
these  last  the  least  precious. 

"  Though  living-  mainly  for  his  profession,  Mr.  Choate 
engaged  to  some  extent  in  public  life,  and  that  at  an  early 
age,  as  a  member  of  the  Legislature  of  Massachusetts,  and  of 
the  National  House  of  Representatives,  and  in  riper  years  as 
a  Senator  of  the  United  States,  as  the  successor  of  Mr.  Web- 
ster, whose  entire  confidence  he  enjoyed,  and  whose  place  he, 
if  any  one,  was  not  unworthy  to  fill.  In  these  different  posi- 
tions, he  displayed  consummate  ability.  His  appearance,  his 
silent  demeanor,  in  either  House  of  Congress  commanded 
respect.  He  was  one  of  the  few  whose  very  presence  in  a 
public  assembly  is  a  call  to  order. 

"  In  the  daily  routine  of  legislation  he  did  not  take  an  ac- 
tive part.  He  rather  shunned  clerical  work,  and  consequently 
avoided,  as  n^uch  as  duty  permitted,  the  labor  of  the  conmiit- 
tee-room  ;  but  on  every  great  question  that  came  up  while  he 
was  a  member  of  either  House  of  Congress,  he  made  a  great 
speech ;  and  when  he  had  spoken,  there  was  very  little  left 
for  any  one  else  to  say  on  the  same  side  of  the  question.  I 
remember  on  one  occasion,  after  he  had  been  defending,  on 
broad  national  grounds,  the  policy  of  affording  a  moderate 
protection  to  our  native  industry,  showing'  that  it  was  not 
merely  a  local  but  a  national  interest,  and  seeking  to  establish 
this  point  by  a  great  variety  of  illustrations,  equally  novel  and 
ingenious,  a  Western  member,  who  had  hitherto  wholly  dis- 
sented from  this  view  of  the  subject,  exclaimed  that  he  '  was 
the  most  persuasive  speaker  he  had  ever  heard.' 

"  But  though  abundantly  able  to  have  filled  a  prominent 
place  among  the  distinguished  active  statesmen  of  the  day,  he 
had  little  fondness  for  political  life,  and  no  aptitude  whatever 
for  the  out-doors  management,  —  for  the  electioneering  leger- 
demain, —  for  the  wearisome  correspondence  with  local  great 
men, — and  the  heart-breaking  drudgery  of  franking  cart-loads 
of  speeches  and  public  documents  to  the  four  winds,  —  which 


258  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS  CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

are  necessary  at  the  present  day  to  great  success  in  a  political 
career.  Still  less  adroit  was  he  in  turning  to  some  personal 
advantage  whatever  topic  happens  for  the  moment  to  attract 
public  attention  ;  fishing  with  ever  freshly-baited  hook  in  the 
turbid  waters  of  an  ephemeral  popularity.  In  reference  to 
some  of  the  arts  by  which  political  advancement  is  sought  and 
obtained,  he  once  said  to  me,  with  that  well-known  character- 
istic look,  in  which  sadness  and  compassionate  pleasantry  were 
about  equally  mingled,  '  They  did  not  do  such  things  in  Wash- 
ington's day.' 

"  If  ever  there  was  a  truly  disinterested  patriot,  Rufus 
Choate  was  that  man.  In  his  political  career  there  was  no 
shade  of  selfishness.  Had  he  been  willing  to  purchase  ad- 
vancement at  the  price  often  paid  for  it,  there  was  never  a 
moment,  from  the  time  he  first  made  himself  felt  and  known, 
that  he  could  not  have  commanded  anything  which  any  party 
could  bestow.  But  he  desired  none  of  the  rewards  or  honors 
of  success.  On  the  contrary,  he  not  only  for  his  individual 
self,  regarded  office  as  a  burden — ^an  obstacle  in  the  way  of 
the  cultivation  of  his  professional  and  literary  tastes — but  he 
held,  that  of  necessity,  and  in  consequence  of  the  strong  ten- 
dency of  our  parties  to  assume  a  sectional  character,  conserva- 
tive opinions,  seeking  to  moderate  between  the  extremes  which 
agitate  the  country,  must  of  necessity  be  in  the  minority;  that 
it  was  the  'mission'  of  men  who  hold  such  opinions,  not  to 
fill  honorable  and  lucrative  posts  which  are  unavoidably  mo- 
nopolized by  active  leaders,  but  to  speak  prudent  words  on 
great  occasions,  which  would  command  the  respect,  if  they  do 
not  enlist  the  sympathies,  of  both  the  conflicting  parties,  and 
thus  insensibly  influence  the  public  mind.  He  comprehended 
and  accepted  the  position  ;  he  knew  that  it  was  one  liable  to 
be  misunderstood,  and  sure  to  be  misrepresented  at  the  time  ; 
but  not  less  sure  to  be  justified  when  the  interests  and  passions 
of  the  day  are  buried,  as  they  are  now  for  him,  beneath  the 
clods  of  the  valley. 

"  But  this  ostracism,  to  which  his  conservative  opinions 
condemned  him,  produced  not  a  shade  of  bitterness  in  his 
feelings.  His  patriotism  w\as  as  cheerful  as  it  was  intense. 
He  regarded  our  confederated  Republic,  with  its  wonderful 
adjustment   of   State  and  Federal  organization  —  the   States 


1858-1859.]  ADDRESS  OF   MR.    EVERETT.  QQg 

bearing-  the  burden  and  descending  to  the  details  of  local 
administration,  the  General  Government  moulding  the  whole 
into  one  grand  nationality,  and  representing  it  in  the  family  of 
nations  —  as  the  most  wonderful  phenomenon  in  the  political 
history  of  the  world. 

"  Too  much  a  statesman  to  join  the  unreflecting  disparage- 
ment with  which  other  great  forms  of  national  polity  are  often 
spoken  of  in  this  country,  he  yet  considered  the  oldest,  the 
wisest,  and  the  most  successful  of  them,  the  British  Constitu- 
tion, as  a  far  less  wonderful  political  system  than  our  Confede- 
rated Republic.  The  territorial  extent  of  the  country ;  the 
beautiful  play  into  each  other  of  its  great  commercial,  agricul- 
tural, and  manufacturing  interests ;  the  material  prosperity,  the 
advancement  in  arts  and  letters  and  manners,  already  made ; 
the  capacity  for  further  indefinite  progress  in  this  vast  theatre 
of  action  in  which  Providence  has  placed  the  Anglo-American 
race,  —  stretching  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific,  from  the 
Arctic  circle  to  the  tropics,  —  were  themes  on  which  he  dwelt 
as  none  but  he  could  dwell ;  and  he  believed  that  with  patience, 
with  mutual  forbearance,  with  a  willingness  to  think  that  our 
brethren,  however  widely  we  may  differ  from  them,  may  be  as 
honest  and  patriotic  as  ourselves,  our  common  country  would 
eventually  reach  a  height  of  prosperity  of  which  the  world 
as  yet  has  seen  no  example. 

"  With  such  gifts,  such  attainments,  and  such  a  spirit,  he 
placed  himself,  as  a  matter  of  course,  not  merely  at  the  head 
of  the  jurists  and  advocates,  but  of  the  public  speakers  of  the 
country.  After  listening  to  him  at  the  bar,  in  the  Senate,  or 
upon  the  academic  or  popular  platform,  you  felt  that  you  had 
heard  the  best  that  could  be  heard  in  either  place.  That  mas- 
tery which  he  displayed  at  the  forum  and  in  the  deliberative 
assembly  was  not  less  conspicuous  in  every  other  form  of 
public  address. 

"  As  happens  in  most  cases  of  eminent  jurists  and  states- 
men, possessing  a  brilliant  imagination,  and  able  to  adorn  a 
severe  course  of  reasoning  with  the  charms  of  a  glowing  fancy 
and  a  sparkling-  style,  it  was  sometimes  said  of  him,  as  it  was 
said  before  him  of  Burke  and  Erskine,  of  Ames  and  Pinck- 
ney,  —  that  he  was  more  of  a  rhetorician  than  a  logician  ; 
that  he  dealt  in  words  and  figures  of  speech  more  than  in  facts 

23* 


rio 


MEMOIR  OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 


or  arguments.  These  are  the  invidious  comments  by  which 
dull  or  prejudiced  men  seek  to  disparage  those  gifts  which  are 
farthest  from  their  own  reach. 

"  It  is,  perhaps,  by  his  discourses  on  academical  and  popular 
occasions  that  he  is  most  extensively  known  in  the  community, 
as  it  is  these  which  were  listened  to  with  delighted  admiration 
by  the  largest  audiences.  He  loved  to  treat  a  pure  literary 
theme  ;  and  he  knew  how  to  throw  a  magic  freshness  —  like 
the  cool  morning  dew  on  a  cluster  of  purple  grapes — over  the 
most  familiar  topics  at  a  patriotic  celebration.  Some  of  these 
occasional  performances  will  ever  be  held  among  the  brightest 
gems  of  our  literature.  The  eulogy  on  Daniel  Webster  at 
Dartmouth  College,  in  which  he  mingled  at  once  all  the  light 
of  his  genius  and  all  the  warmth  of  his  heart,  has,  within  my 
knowledge,  never  been  equalled  among  the  performances  of 
its  class  in  this  country  for  sympathetic  appreciation  of  a  great 
man,  discriminating  analysis  of  character,  fertility  of  illustra- 
tion, weight  of  sentiment,  and  a  style  at  once  chaste,  nervous, 
and  brilliant.  The  long  sentences  which  have  been  criticised 
in  this,  as  in  his  other  performances,  are  like  those  which  Dr. 
Channing  admired  and  commended  in  Milton's  prose, —  well 
compacted,  full  of  meaning,  fit  vehicles  of  great  thoughts. 

"  But  he  does  not  deal  exclusively  in  those  ponderous  sen- 
tences. There  is  nothing  of  the  artificial,  Johnsonian  balance 
in  his  style.  It  is  as  often  marked  by  a  pregnant  brevity  as 
by  a  sonorous  amplitude.  He  is  sometimes  satisfied,  in  concise 
epigrammatic  clauses,  to  skirmish  with  his  hght  troops  and 
drive  in  the  enemy's  outposts.  It  is  only  on  fitting  occasions, 
when  great  principles  are  to  be  vindicated  and  solemn  truths 
told,  when  some  moral  or  political  Waterloo  or  Solferino  is 
to  be  fought,  —  that  he  puts  on  the  entire  panoply  of  his  gor- 
geous rhetoric.  It  is  then  that  his  majestic  sentences  swell 
to  the  dimensions  of  his  thought, — that  you  hear  afar  off"  the 
awful  roar  of  his  rifled  ordnance,  and — when  he  has  stormed 
the  heights  and  broken  the  centre  and  trampled  the  squares 
and  turned  the  staggering  wing  of  his  adversary,  —  that  he 
sounds  his  imperial  clarion  along  the  whole  line  of  battle,  and 
moves  forwru'd  with  all  his  hosts  in  one  overwhelming  charge. 

"  Our  friend  was,  in  all  the  personal  relations  of  life,  the 
most  unselfish  and  disinterested  of  men.     Commanding,  from 


1858-1859.]  ADDRESS  OF  MR.  EVERETT.  gyi 

an  early  period,  a  valuable  clientag^e,  and  rising  rapidly  to  the 
summit  of  his  profession,  and  to  the  best  practice  in  the  courts 
of  Massachusetts,  and  in  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 
States,  with  no  expensive  tastes  or  habits,  and  a  manner  of 
life  highly  unostentatious  and  simple,  advancing'  years  over- 
took him  with  but  slender  provision  for  their  decline.  He 
reaped  little  but  fame,  where  he  ought  to  have  reaped  both 
fame  and  fortune.  A  career  which  in  England  would  have 
been  crowned  with  affluence,  and  probably  with  distinguished 
rank  and  office,  found  him  at  sixty  chained  to  the  treadmill  of 
laborious  practice. 

"  He  might,  indeed,  be  regarded  as  a  martyr  to  his  profes- 
sion. He  gave  to  it  his  time,  his  strength,  and  neglecting  due 
care  of  regular  bodily  exercise  and  occasional  entire  relaxa- 
tion, he  might  be  said  to  have  given  to  it  his  life.  He 
assumed  the  racking  anxieties  and  feverish  excitements  of  his 
clients.  From  the  courts,  where  he  argued  the  causes  in- 
trusted to  him,  with  all  the  energy  of  his  intellect,  rousing 
into  corresponding  action  an  overtasked  nervous  system,  these 
cares  and  anxieties  followed  him  to  the  weariness  of  his  mid- 
night vigils,  and  the  unrest  of  his  sleepless  pillow.  In  this 
way  he  led  a  long  professional  career,  worn  and  harassed  with 
other  men's  cares,  and  sacrificed  ten  added  years  of  active 
usefulness  to  the  intensity  with  which  he  threw  himself  into 
the  discharge  of  his  duties  in  middle  life. 

"  There  are  other  recollections  of  our  friend's  career,  other 
phases  of  his  character,  on  which  I  would  gladly  dwell ;  but 
the  hour  has  elapsed,  and  it  is  not  necessary.  The  gentlemen 
who  have  preceded  me,  his  professional  brethren,  his  pastor, 
the  press  of  the  country,  generously  allowing  past  differences 
of  opinion  to  be  buried  in  his  grave,  have  more  than  made  up 
for  any  deficiency  in  my  remarks.  His  work  is  done,  — 
nobly,  worthily,  done.  Never  more  in  the  temples  of  justice, 
—  never  more  in  the  Senate  chamber,  —  never  more  in  the 
crowded  assembly,  —  never  more  in  this  consecrated  hall, 
where  he  so  often  held  listening  crowds  in  rapt  admiration, 
shall  we  catch  the  unearthly  glance  of  his  eye,  or  listen  to  the 
strange  sweet  music  of  his  voice.  To-morrow  we  shall  follow 
him, — the  pure  patriot,  —  the  consummate  jurist,  —  the  elo- 
quent orator,  —  the  honored  citizen,  —  the  beloved  friend,  to 


gy^  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  X. 

the  last  resting-  place  ;  and  who  will  not  feel,  as  we  la}'^  him 
there,  that  a  brighter  genius  and  a  warmer  heart  are  not  left 
among  living  men  !  " 

During  this  meeting,  the  steamboat  which  brought  the 
remains  from  Nova  Scotia  came  to  anchor  in  the  harbor. 
The  next  morning,  Saturday,  July  23,  a  private  funeral  ser- 
vice was  held  at  the  house  of  the  deceased,  in  Winthrop  Place, 
and  the  body  was  then  taken  to  the  Essex  Street  Church, 
where  a  funeral  address  was  made  by  Rev.  Dr.  Nehemiah 
Adams.  The  service  was  attended  by  the  public  functionaries 
of  the  State,  by  the  judges  of  the  court,  the  members  of  the 
bar,  and  a  large  concourse  of  people.  These  ceremonies  over, 
the  body  was  borne,  with  every  testimonial  of  respect,  —  the 
booming  of  minute  guns,  the  tolling  of  bells,  and  the  waving 
of  flags  hung  at  half-mast,  —  to  its  last  resting  place,  under 
the  shadows  of  Mount  Auburn. 


Chap.  XL]      LETTER  FROM  HON.  J.   H.   CLIFFORD.  OJg 


CHAPTER    XI. 

Letter  from  Hon.  John  PL  Clifford  —  Reminiscences  of  Mr.  Choate's  Habits  in 
his  Office  —  Tborouixhness  of  Preparation  of  Cases  —  Manner  of  Legal  Study 
—  Intercourse  with  the  Younixer  Members  of  the  Bar  —  Manner  to  the  Court 
and  the  Jury — Charges  and  Income  —  Vocabulary  —  Wit  and  Humor  — 
Anecdotes  —  Eloc{uence  —  Style  —  Note  from  Rev.  Joseph  Tracy  —  Mem- 
ory—  Quotations  —  Fondness  for  Books — Reminiscences  by  a  Friend  — 
Life  at  Home  —  Conversation  —  Religious  Feeling  and  Belief. 

It  may  be  proper  to  present,  in  this  concluding"  chapter,  a 
few  additional  testimonials,  and  briefly  to  indicate  some  of  the 
striking  characteristics  of  Mr.  Choate,  for  which  a  place  could 
not  be  found  in  the  body  of  the  memoir  without  interrupting 
the  course  of  the  narrative. 

From  Hon.  John  H.  Clifford. 

"New  Bedford,  IMass.,  October  26th,  1860. 

"  My  dear  Sir,  —  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  comply  Avith  your  request, 
and  say  an  unstudied  word  of  remembrance  of  my  professional  associate 
and  friend. 

"  I  do  this  the  more  readily,  as  I  was  prevented  by  circumstances  from 
participating  in  the  public  manifestations  of  respect  and  sorrow,  from  my 
brethren  of  the  bar,  and  other  associations,  with  which  we  were  con- 
nected, which  followed  immediately  upon  his  death. 

"In  reply  to  your  specific  inquiry,  respecting  the  selection  to  be  made 
from  Mr.  Choate's  arguments,  as  the  most  valuable  for  illustration  of  his 
powers  and  qiiaiity  as  an  advocate,  I  can  only  say,  that  a  very  inadequate 
and  unsatisfactory  impression  of  either  can  be  derived  from  any  of  the 
meagre  reports  of  his  great  efforts  at  the  bai\  To  those  who  were 
familiar  with  his  wonderful  genius,  his  wealth  of  learning,  his  genial 
humor,  and  his  unparalleled  combinations  of  the  most  brilliant  rhetoric 
with  the  most  massive  logic,  the  attempts  that  have  been  made  to  repro- 
duce them  have  been  painfully  disproportionate  to  their  subject ;  while 
upon  others  they  can  hardly  fail  to  produce  a  belittling  and  disparaging 
impression  of  his  great  powers.  I  fear  that,  in  this  respect,  his  fame 
must  share  the  melancholy  fate  of  most  great  lawyers  and  advocates,  to 
be  taken  upon  trust,  and  as  a  ti'adition  of  posterity,  rather  than  to  be 
verified  to  it  by  its  own  critical  judgment  of  his  recorded  labors. 

"  In  regard  to  Mr.  Choate's  '  theory  of  advocacy,'  there  has  been  much 


174^ 


MEMOIR   OF   KUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 


ignorant  and  unconsidered  criticism  since  his  death,  as  there  was,  indeed, 
during  his  life.  In  the  remarks  of  Judge  Curtis  to  the  Supreme  Judi- 
cial Court  of  Massachusetts,  upon  the  presentation  of  the  resolutions 
adopted  by  the  Bar  at  the  time  of  Mr.  Choate's  decease,  there  is  a  just 
and  most  satisfactory  exposition  of  the  true  theory  of  advocacy.  Assum- 
iu"-  the  views  expressed  in  that  admirable  address  to  have  been  those 
entertained  by  Mr.  Choate,  as  I  have  no  doubt  they  were  in  substance,  it 
seems  to  me  that  the  flippant  denunciations  of  what  has  been  called  the 
'  unscrupulousness  of  his  advocacy'  are  the  mei'est  cant  —  as  unsound 
and  untenable  in  the  view  which  they  imply  of  a  lawyer's  duty,  as  they 
are  unjust  to  his  memory. 

"  I  had  opportunities  of  observation  for  many  years,  of  the  practical 
application  by  him  of  his  views  of  professional  obligation  in  this  respect, 
both  in  civil  and  criminal  cases,  almost  always  as  an  adversary,  though 
occasionally  as  an  associate.  I  believe  that  a  conscientious  conviction  of 
his  duty  led  him,  at  times,  to  accept  retainers  in  the  latter  class  of  cases, 
when  the  service  to  be  performed  was  utterly  repugnant  and  distasteful 
to  him.  As  a  striking  confirmation  of  this  opinion,  I  may  state  that,  in 
1853,  when  I  vacated  the  otiice  of  Attorney-General,  to  assume  the 
administration  of  the  Executive  Department  of  the  government,  it  Avas 
intimated  to  me  by  a  common  friend  that  the  place  would  be  agreeable 
to  Mr.  Choate.  I,  of  course,  had  no  hesitation  in  promptly  availing 
myself  of  this  opportunity  of  making  the  conceded  chief  of  the  Bar  its 
official  head.  Upon  tendering  to  him  the  appointment,  which  was  un- 
hesitatingly and  gracefully  accepted,  I  learned  that  one  of  the  principal 
inducements  leading  him  to  assume  the  post,  while  he  was  under  the 
weightiest  pi-essure  of  private  practice,  was  the  avenue  of  escape 
which  it  aflforded  him  from  the  defence  of  criminal  causes.  Regard- 
ing the  profession  of  his  choice  as  an  office,  and  not  as  a  trade,  he 
felt  that  he  was  not  at  liberty,  when  pressed  by  the  friends  of  parties 
accused  of  crime,  to  refuse  his  services  to  submit  their  defence  to 
the  proper  tribunal,  merely  because  this  department  of  professional 
labor  was  not  agreeable  to  him,  while  the  acceptance  of  the  post  of 
public  prosecutor  would  give  him  an  honorable  discharge  from  this  field 
of  practice. 

"  It  is  rare  for  a  person  whose  life,  like  his,  had  been  spent  almost 
exclusively  in  the  practice  of  his  profession,  to  secure  the  affectionate 
attachment  of  so  large  and  diversified  a  body  of  friends.  Much  as  he 
was  devoted  to  books,  he  saw  more  of  the  various  classes  of  men,  from 
every  one  of  which  there  were  sincerer  mourners  over  his  bier,  than  falls 
to  the  lot  of  most  great  lawyers.  This  arose  from  his  varied  and  exten- 
sive clientage,  and  the  broad  range  of  his  practice.  An  English  barris- 
ter, who  is  confined  almost  exclusively  to  a  particular  circuit,  and  under 
their  system  of  minute  subdivision  of  labor,  frequently  to  one  class  of 
causes,  can  with  difficulty  comprehend  the  life  of  one  who,  like  Mr. 
Choate,  was  familiar  with  all  the  judicial  tribunals  of  a  country  like  ours, 
from  tlie  highest  to  the  lowest,  Federal  and  State,  and  with  every  depart- 
ment of  the  law,  in  all  its  diversified  relations  to  '  the  business  and 
bosoms  of  men.'  Still  more  difficult  is  it  for  him  to  conceive  how  a 
practitioner  in  such  a  wide  field  as  this,  could  be,  as  Mr.  Choate  incon- 
testably  was,  facile  princepsy  wherever  he  appeared. 


Chap.  XL]  HABITS   IN   HIS   OFFICE.  275 

"The  hiji;liest  proof  of  his  superiority,  is  to  be  found  in  the  united  tes- 
timony of  those  who  '  stood  nearest  to  liim.'  And  no  one  wlio  witnessed 
the  manifestations  of  respect  for  his  great  powers,  and  of  affection  for  the 
man,  which  were  exhibited  by  his  brethren  of  the  bar,  upon  receiving 
the  sad  intelligence  that  he  was  to  be  with  them  no  more  on  earth,  can 
doubt  the  sincerity  with  which  they  assigned  to  him  the  first  place  among 
this  generation  of  American  lawyers. 

"  For  myself,  I  count  it  as  one  of  the  privileges  and  felicities  of  my  pro- 
fessional life,  that  Rufus  Choate  was  my  temporary  associate  and  friend. 
"  I  am,  dear  Sir,  with  sincere  respect,  truly  yours, 

"  Prof.  S.  G.  Brown.  John  H.  Clifford." 

Mr.  Choate's  business  was  almost  wholly  connected  with 
cases  in  court.  It  might  be  said  that  he  had  no  conveyan- 
cing, almost  no  drawing  up  of  contracts  or  wills,  and  very  rare 
occasions  for  giving  written  opinions.  Comparatively  few 
cases  were  commenced  in  the  office.  Most  of  his  business 
was  the  result  of  outside  retainers  in  cases  commenced,  or  to 
be  commenced,  by  other  counsel,  or  in  defending  cases  already 
commenced. 

Of  Mr.  Choate's  habits  in  his  office  and  in  the  courts,  a 
memorandum,  by  his  son-in-law  and  partner,  Joseph  M.  Bell, 
Esq.,  will  afford  the  best  possible  information. 

"  When  I  went  to  him,"  says  Mr.  Bell,  "in  January,  184^9, 
we  took  an  office  at  7|  Tremont  Row,  then  entirely  out  of  the 
range  of  the  fraternity.  His  habits  then  were  these :  —  Reg- 
ularly at  nine  o'clock  (^or,  if  to  go  into  court,  a  trifle  earlier) 
he  came  to  the  office,  and  spent  the  morning  there.  Gener- 
ally his  room  was  filled  with  clients.  If  not,  he  was  busily 
engaged  in  preparing  his  cases  for  trial  or  argument;  or,  if 
no  immediate  necessity  existed  for  this,  a  careful  examination 
of  the  latest  text-books  and  reports  was  made,  or  a  course  of 
study,  already  marked  out,  pursued.  He  was  rarely  idle  for 
a  moment,  and  by  this  I  mean  that  he  was  rarely  without  book 
and  pen  in  hand.  He  studied  pen  in  hand,  rarely  sitting  down 
with  book  alone.  He  had  an  old,  high,  pine  desk,  such  as 
were  in  lawyers'  offices  many  years  ago,  which  he  specially 
prized.  It  had  been  used  by  Judge  Prescott,  —  the  father  of 
William  H.  Prescott,  —  in  Salem,  and  perhaps  by  other  law- 
yers before  him.  Upon  its  top  there  ^^'as  a  row  of  pigeon- 
holes for  papers.  A  tall  counting-house  chair,  with  the  front 
legs  some  three  inches  shorter  than  the  back  ones,  so  as  to 


gyg  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

incline  tlie  seat  forward,  enaljled  him  to  keep  in  nearly  a  stand- 
ing position  at  the  desk,  and  there,  and  in  that  position,  come 
upon  him  when  you  might,  he  was  to  be  found,  pen  in  hand, 
hard  at  work.  He  was  patient  of  interruption,  beyond  any 
man  I  ever  met.  Unless  specially  engaged  upon  matters 
which  brooked  no  delay,  his  time  and  learning  were  at  the 
disposal  of  the  poorest  and  most  ignorant.  It  was  very  rarely 
indeed  that  I  heard  him  say  to  any  one,  '  I  cannot  attend  to 
you  now.''  The  old  desk,  alluded  to,  I  succeeded  in  getting 
out  of  his  office;  but  one  not  much  better  took  its  place.  If 
a  person  came  into  his  office  with  a  case,  his  invariable  habit, 
when  possible,  was  to  converse  with  him  pen  in  hand,  and 
write  down  every  particular  bearing  upon  it.  If  the  case  in- 
volved doubt,  as  soon  as  the  client  had  gone,  he  made,  aut 
2^er  se  aut  per  alium^  a  strict  examination  of  the  law,  of  which 
he  made  a  careful  record.  He  may  be  said  to  have  studied 
all  his  cases  all  the  time.  He  never  seemed  to  have  one  of 
them  out  of  mind  for  an  instant.  If,  in  reading  law,  or  any- 
thing else,  diverso  iiituitu.,  anything  occurred  which  could  be 
useful  in  any  of  his  numerous  cases,  down  it  went  upon  some 
of  the  papers  —  Greek  to  the  world,  but  clear  to  him.  And 
this  leads  me  to  say  that  in  all  the  apparent  confusion  of  his 
papers,  there  was  the  utmost  regularity,  after  his  kind.  He 
was  a  great  lover  of  order,  and  strove  hard  for  it,  but  there 
seemed  to  be  a  certain  mechanical  dexterity  of  which  he  was 
destitute.  I  think  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  him  to 
fold  regidarly  half  a  dozen  sheets  of  paper.  His  papers  were 
tied  together  in  a  confused  mass  ;  but  they  were  all  there, 
and  he  could  find  them.  Untie  and  arrange  them  in  order, 
and  he  liked  it ;  but  the  first  time  the  parcel  was  re-opened 
by  him  it  returned  to  its  original  condition.  But  this  was 
want  of  manual  dexterity  only.  He  was  ever  striving  to 
have  his  office  regular  and  orderly,  like  other  offices,  but 
without  efiect.-^ 

"  For  a  year  or  so  after  going  in  with  him,  I  rarely  saw  him 

1  He  was  entirely  aware  of  this  him-  playfully  remarked,  "there  would  be 

self.      Speakinr;    once    of   the   oflicer  little    use   for   such   a    person    in   our 

known  to  the  Enjiiish  Court  of  Com-  office."     And  yet  he  generally  could 

mon  Picas  as  the  Filacer,  or  Filazier,  put  his  hand  at  once  upon   what  he 

so  called   because  he  files  those  writs  wanted, 
on   which  he   makes  out  process,  he 


Chap.  XL]  HABITS  IN  HIS   OFFICE.  g'T'T 

at  the  office  in  the  afternoon.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  going 
to  the  Athenaeum,  and  other  places  where  books  were  to  be 
found.  After  that  time,  he  was  at  the  office  afternoon  as  well 
as  forenoon,  unless  occupied  in  the  law  outside.  His  cheer- 
fulness was  constant ;  and  he  never  appeared  in  greater  spirits 
than  when  everything  seemed  tangled  and  snarled  beyond  ex- 
trication. Little  things  sometimes  troubled  him  ;  real  diffi- 
culties, never.  He  did  and  wanted  everything  done  on  the 
instant ;  and  if  this  could  not  be  brought  about,  he  would  often 
seem  to  lose  all  interest  in  it.  I  have  often  been  astonished 
at  his  willingness  to  perform  every  one's  work.  That  never 
seemed  to  trouble  him  ;  and  it  was  a  rare  thing  to  hear  him 
complain  of  others.  In  regard  to  his  court  engagements,  he 
was  promptitude  itself.  No  one  ever  knew  him  a  minute 
behind  time,  if  by  possibility  he  could  come  at  all.  He  had 
a  method  of  imparting  instruction,  peculiar  to  a  race  of  le- 
gal giants  now  passed  away,  by  short,  pithy,  or  sarcastic  and 
ironical  sentences.  You  were  often  to  determine  his  mean- 
ing rather  by  what  he  did  not  say  than  from  what  he  did. 
I  have  heard  him  talk  an  hour  in  this  way;  and  if  one  had 
taken  in  sober  earnest  what  he  said  for  what  he  meant,  he 
would  have  made  a  slight  mistake.  The  gravest  law  talk, 
with  one  who  could  understand  him,  was  fun  alive. 

"  With  his  vast  command  of  language,  he  delighted  to  use 
some  expressive  slang  phrase  in  familiar  conversation.  I  re- 
member one  that  tickled  him  hugely.  A  man  in  the  office 
told  him  a  story  of  some  fight  that  he  was  a  witness  of ;  and 
after  describing  it  graphically,  said,  '  And  then  the  stones 
flew  my  way,  and  I  dug'  He  never  could  resist  the  use  of 
this  last  expression,  and  never  used  it  without  laughing  heart- 
ily. And  this  reminds  me  that  I  rarely  —  I  may  say  never 
—  heard  him  laugh  out  loud.  He  would  throw  his  head 
back,  open  his  mouth  wide,  and  draw  in  his  breath  with  a 
deep  respiratory  sound,  while  his  whole  face  glowed  with  fun. 

"  He  rarely  left  his  office  to  pass  a  half-hour  in  another's, 
except  on  business.  He  took  a  great  many  papers  and  peri- 
odicals at  the  office,  but  seldom  read  one.  Sometimes  they 
went  into  the  stove  in  the  original  wrappers. 

"  Mr.  Choate's  method  of  preparing  his  cases  for  trial  and 
argument,  depended  so  much  upon  the  varying  circumstances 

VOL.  I.  24 


£^8  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

of  the  cases,  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  say  that  he  had  any 
particular  plan.  But  this  always  was  his  practice,  when  he 
had  time  for  it :  — 

"  If  for  the  plaintiff,  a  strict  examination  of  all  the  pleading^s, 
if  the  case  had  been  commenced  by  others,  was  immediately 
made,  and  so  far  as  practicable,  personal  examination  of  the 
principal  witnesses,  —  accurate  study  of  the  exact  questions 
raised  by  the  pleadings,  and  a  thorough  and  exhaustive  prep- 
aration of  all  the  law  upon  those  questions.  This  preparation 
completed,  the  papers  were  laid  aside  until  the  day  of  trial 
approached.  At  that  time  a  thorough  reexamination  of  the 
facts,  law,  and  pleadings  had  to  be  made.  He  was  never 
content  until  everything  which  might  by  possibility  bear  upon 
the  case  had  been  carefully  investigated,  and  this  investigation 
had  been  brought  down  to  the  last  moment  before  the  trial. 

"  If  for  the  defence,  the  pleadings  were  first  examined  and 
reconstructed,  if  in  his  judgment  necessary,  and  as  careful  an 
examination  of  the  law  made  as  in  the  other  case. 

"  In  his  preparation  for  the  argument  of  a  question  of  law, 
he  could  never  be  said  to  have  finished  it  until  the  judgment 
had  been  entered  by  the  court.  It  commenced  with  the 
knowledge  that  the  argument  was  to  be  made ;  and  from 
that  time  to  the  entry  of  the  judgment,  the  case  never  seemed 
to  be  out  of  his  mind  ;  and  whenever  and  wherever  a  thought 
appropriate  to  the  case  occurred  to  him,  it  was  noted  for  use. 
It  would  often  happen  that  the  case  was  nearly  reached  for 
argument  at  one  term  of  the  court ;  every  possible  prepara- 
tion having  been  made  and  the  brief  printed ;  yet  the  term 
would  end  and  the  case  not  come  on.  The  former  prepara- 
tion then  made  but  a  starting  point  for  him.  At  the  next 
term  a  fuller  brief  appeared ;  and  this  might  happen  several 
times.  The  finished  brief  of  the  evening  had  to  be  altered 
and  added  to  in  the  morning  ;  and  it  frequently  went  into 
the  hands  of  the  court  with  the  undried  ink  of  his  last  cita- 
tions. If,  after  argument,  a  case  uncited  then  was  discov- 
ered, or  if  a  new  view  of  it  occurred  to  him,  the  court  was 
instantly  informed  of  it. 

"  And  so  in  the  trial  of  a  case  at  nisi  prius.  Every  inter- 
mission called  for  a  full  examination  of  every  law  book  which 
could  possibly  bear  upon  questions  already  before  the  court, 


Chap.  XL]  PREPARATION   OF   CASES.  g^g 

or  which  he  purposed  to  bring-  before  it.  No  difficulty  in  pro- 
curing- a  book  which  treated  upon  the  question  before  him, 
ever  hindered  him  ;  it  was  a  mere  question  of  possibility. 

He  had  a  plan  for  the  trial  of  every  case,  to  which  he  clung 
from  the  start,  and  to  which  everything  bent.  That  plan  often 
appeared  late  in  the  case,  perhaps  upon  his  filing  his  prayer  to 
the  court  for  special  rulings  to  the  jury.  But  that  plan  was 
at  any  time  —  no  matter  how  much  labor  had  been  put  into 
it  —  instantly  thrown  over,  and  a  new  one  adopted,  if,  in  his 
judgment,  it  was  better.  He  bent  the  whole  case  to  his  the- 
ory of  the  law  of  it ;  and,  if  accidentally  a  new  fact  appeared 
which  would  enable  him  to  use  a  clearer  principle  of  law,  the 
last  from  that  moment  became  his  case.  I  remember  perfectly 
an  example  of  his  quickness  and  boldness  in  this  respect.  In 
an  insurance  case,  we  were  for  the  plaintiff.  A  vessel  had 
been  insured  for  a  year,  with  a  warranty  that  she  should  not 
go  north  of  the  Okhotsk  Sea.  Within  the  year  she  was  burned 
north  of  the  limits  of  the  Okhotsk  Sea  proper,  but  south  of  the 
extreme  limits  of  some  of  that  sea's  adjacent  gulfs.  The  de- 
fendant set  up  that  there  was  no  loss  within  the  limits  of  the 
policy ;  and  numerous  witnesses  had  been  summoned  by  both 
parties, — on  our  side  to  show  that  by  merchants  the  Okhotsk 
Sea  was  considered  to  include  the  bays  and  gulfs ;  on  the  other 
side,  to  prove  the  contrary.  A  protracted  trial  was  expected, 
and  everything  had  been  prepared.  As  we  were  walking  to 
the  court-house,  he  said,  '  Why  should  we  prove  that  we  were 
not  north  of  that  sea  ?  —  why  not  let  them  prove  that  we 
were  ?  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  '  — '  It  seems  to  be  the 
right  way,  certainly,'  said  I.  '  Let  us  do  it,  —  open  the  case 
on  that  idea.'  I  did  so,  and  put  on  the  mate  to  prove  the 
burning  at  a  certain  time  within  the  year.  No  cross-examina- 
tion followed,  and  we  rested  our  case.  The  other  side  were 
dumfounded.  They  had  expected  that  we  should  be  at  least 
two  days  putting  in  our  case  on  the  other  theory,  and  had  no 
witnesses  at  hand.  They  fought  our  plan  stoutlv  ;  but  the 
court  was  with  us,  and  they  were  obliged  to  submit  to  a  ver- 
dict in  our  favor.     The  case  lasted  one  hour. 

"  In  many  cases  I  have  known  him  to  dismiss  witnesses  that 
had  been  summoned  for  proof  of  particular  facts,  because  he 
had  changed  his  plan,  and  would  not  require  them. 


OQQ  ■  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

"  One  of  the  most  striking  characteristics  of  Mr.  Choate 
was  the  tenacity  with  which  he  persisted  in  trying  a  case  once 
commenced^  under  no  matter  what  disadvantages.  If  a  case 
seemed  untenable,  and  indeed  always  before  suit,  he  was  very 
willing  to  settle.  Divorce  cases  and  family  disturbances,  and 
suits  between  friends,  he  strained  every  nerve  to  adjust  before 
they  became  public,  and  even  after.  But  when  a  case  was 
fairly  before  the  court,  he  seemed  absolutely  to  hate  the  idea 
of  a  compromise,  and  never  felt  the  case  lost  so  long  as  there 
was  standing  in  court.  No  matter  how  hopeless  seemed  the 
chance  of  success,  he  would  say,  '  It  will  never  do  to  say 
die,'  and  plunge  boldly  into  the  trial.  And  it  was  astonish- 
ing to  find  him  so  often  successful  where  there  seemed  no 
hope.  While  a  trial  was  going  on  in  court,  every  word  of 
every  witness  was  taken  down,  and  every  legal  incident  noted. 
This  was  taken  home,  and  before  the  court  opened  the  next 
day,  arranged  and  studied,  and  his  argument  commenced  and 
kept  along  with  the  days  of  trial,  often  changed  and  re-writ- 
ten. He  kept  loose  paper  by  him  in  court,  on  which  were 
jotted  down  questions  for  witnesses,  and  ideas  of  all  kinds 
connected  with  the  case." 

As  might  be  inferred  from  this,  his  notes  were  generally 
very  ample  and  complete.  To  a  student  who  was  going  to 
take  the  depositions  of  some  witnesses  where  he  could  not  be 
present,  he  said,  "  Take  down  every  adjective,  adverb,  and  in- 
terjection that  the  witnesses  utter."  His  brief  too,  was  always 
full,  though  in  addressing  a  jury  he  was  entirely  untram- 
melled, and  often  hardly  referred  to  it.  In  addressing  the 
court  he  sometimes  seemed  to  follow  his  notes  closely,  almost 
as  if  he  were  repeating  them,  laying  aside  page  after  page  as 
he  proceeded. 

In  determining  the  theory  of  his  case,  he  was  never  sat- 
isfied until  he  had  met  every  supposition  that  could  be  brought 
against  it.  But  he  had  no  love  for  a  theory  because  it  was 
his  own,  however  great  the  labor  it  had  cost  him,  but  was  per- 
fectly ready  to  throw  it  aside  for  another,  when  that  appeared 
better.  This  change  of  front  he  sometimes  made  in  the  midst 
of  the  trial,  under  the  eye  of  the  court,  and  in  the  face  of  a 
watchful   and   eager   antagonist.      He  was   never   more   self- 


Chap.  XL]  HIS  MANNER  IN  COURT.  gSl 

possessed,  nor  seemed  to  have  his  entire  faculties  more  fully  at 
command,  nor  to  exercise  a  more  consummate  judgment,  than 
when  in  the  very  heat  of  a  strongly  contested  case,  where  a 
mistake  would  have  been  fatal.  In  the  preparation  of  a  case 
he  left  nothing  to  chance  ;  and  his  juniors  sometimes  found 
themselves  urged  to  a  fidelity  and  constancy  of  labor  to  which 
they  had  not  been  accustomed. 

In  intercourse  with  junior  counsel,  no  one  could  be  more 
unselfish  and  generous.  He  assumed  their  difficulties,  pro- 
tected them  if  necessary,  often  insisting  to  the  client  that  the 
junior  was  fully  equal  to  the  case,  and  after  the  case  was  won 
yielding  to  him  a  full  share  of  the  honor. 

"  He  was  the  best  senior  counsel,"  said  an  eminent  lawyer,^ 
"  that  ever  lived.  Other  men  almost  always  make  you  feel 
that  you  are  second ;  he  so  made  suggestions  that  you  seemed 
to  come  to  the  knowledge  of  your  own  motion.  If  you  came 
to  him  with  a  proposition  which  could  not  be  sustained,  instead 
of  saying,  '  That's  not  the  law,'  he  would  begin  by  asking  you 
questions,  or  by  making  statements  to  which  you  at  once  as- 
sented, till  he  led  you  round  to  a  point  just  the  opposite  of 
that  from  which  you  started." 

Never  assuming  preeminence,  or  standing  upon  his  dignity, 
he  was  on  the  kindest  and  most  familiar  terms  with  his  breth- 
ren at  the  bar.  The  morning  after  his  letter  to  the  Whigs  of 
Maine  appeared  in  the  newspapers,  a  brother-lawyer — a  Dem- 
ocrat—  suddenly  opened  the  door  of  his  office,  and  saluted  him 
with  the  question  :  "  Well,  Mr.  Choate,  how  was  it,  —  money 
down,  or  bond  and  mortgage  ?  "  No  one  relished  such  a  sally 
more  than  he. 

During  the  progress  of  a  trial,  though  intently  watchful 
of  all  the  proceedings,  he  was  abounding  in  good  nature  and 
courtesy.  "  If  his  wit  and  pleasantry  in  the  court-room," 
said  one  of  the  most  eminent  of  his  profession,  "'  could  be 
gathered  up,  they  would  be  unsurpassed  in  all  the  annals  of 
the  law."  His  addresses  to  the  jury  were  singularly  impas- 
sioned ;  every  muscle  of  his  frame  quivered  with  emotion  ; 
the  perspiration  stood  in  drops  even  upon  the  hair  of  his  head.^ 

1  Mr.  Justice  Lord.  and  almost  always  after  a  strong  efFort 

2  Always  after  speaking  he  was  suffered  from  an  attack  of  sick-head- 
obliged  to  wrap  himself  up  in  two  or     ache. 

three  overcoats  to  prevent  taking  cold, 
24* 


232  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

Yet  he  was  always  dig-nified  and  conciliatory,  as  if  speaking-  to 
friends.  To  witnesses  he  was  unfailingly  courteous,  seldom 
severe  even  with  the  most  reluctant,  but  drawing-  from  them 
the  evidence  by  the  skill  of  his  examination.  To  the  Bench 
he  was  remarkable  for  deference  in  manner,  and  quietness, 
felicity,  and  precision  in  language.  I  happened  once  to  go  into 
the  Supreme  Court-room,  when  not  more  than  a  dozen  persons 
were  present,  and  many  of  them  officials,  but  all  the  judges 
were  upon  the  bench,  and  Mr.  Choate  was  standing  at  a  table 
before  them,  arguing  a  question  of  law.  He  stood  erect  and 
quiet,  made  no  gesture  except  a  slight  movement  of  the  right 
hand  from  the  wrist,  nor  changed  his  position  except  when 
necessary  to  obtain  a  book  for  an  authority,  but  spoke  for 
more  than  an  hour  in  a  low,  clear,  musical  voice,  with  a  felicity 
of  language,  a  logical  precision,  a  succinctness  of  statement, 
a  constantly  expanding  and  advancing  movement  of  thought, 
and  a  gentle,  slightly  exhilarating  warmth  of  feeling,  which 
I  never  heard  equalled,  and  which  was  even  more  fascinating 
than  his  appeals  to  the  jury.  His  motions  and  gestures  were, 
as  T  have  said,  vehement,  but  not  affected  nor  ungraceful. 
They  were  a  part  of  himself,  one  with  his  style  and  method. 
The  sweep  of  his  arm,  the  tremulous  hand,  the  rising  and 
settling  of  his  body,  the  dignified  tread,  the  fascinating  eye, 
the  tone,  gentle,  musical,  persuasive,  vehement,  ringing,  never 
querulous,  never  bitter  —  all  sprang  from  the  nature  of  the 
man,  spontaneous  and  irrepressible.  Never  was  there  a 
speaker  less  artificial. 

Mr.  Choate's  knowledge  of  his  profession  never  grew 
more  rapidly  and  more  solidly  than  during  the  last  ten  years 
of  his  life.  In  the  midst  of  ever-increasing  labors,  he  found 
time  for  constant  and  careful  study  of  the  science  of  the  law. 
On  the  appearance  of  a  new  volume  of  the  Massachusetts 
Reports,  he  was  accustomed  to  take  every  important  case  on 
which  he  had  not  been  employed,  make  a  full  brief  upon  each 
side,  draw  up  a  judgment,  and,  finally,  compare  his  work 
with  the  briefs  and  judgments  reported.  This  was  a  settled 
habit  for  many  years  before  he  died.  To  say  that  he  had  a 
high  sense  of  professional  honor,  would  only  ascribe  to  him 
a  virtue  that  is  not  rare  in  the  American  Bar ;  yet  few,  per- 
haps, have  had  a  clearer  or  more  refined  and  delicate  appre- 


Chap.  XL]  HIS   GENEROSITY.  283 

hension  of  the  proprieties  and  ethics  of  the  profession.  He 
held  an  exalted  idea  of  the  office  and  duties  of  an  advocate. 
"The  order  of  advocates  is  as  ancient  as  the  office  of  the  judge, 
as  noble  as  virtue,  and  as  necessary  as  justice."  So  wrote  the 
great  jurist  of  France,  D'Aguesseau  ;  and  so  have  ever  felt  the 
wisest  and  most  upright  judges  of  law  and  equity. 

During  the  latter  part  of  his  career,  he  was  more  reluctant 
to  undertake  doubtful  criminal  cases.  Though  accepting  every 
clear  duty  of  his  profession,  he  held  himself  more  in  reserve. 
This  was  partly  because  of  his  constant  and  intense  occupa- 
tion, partly  because  his  tastes  led  him  to  other  branches  of  the 
profession,  and  in  part,  perhaps,  because  he  had  to  contend 
against  his  own  fame,  and  instinctively  shrunk  from  annoying 
and  vulgar  criticism.  When  solicited  to  defend  Dr.  Webster, 
he  argued  with  the  friend  who  consulted  him,  that  it  would  be 
really  better  for  the  accused  to  have  other  counsel. 

Up  to  the  year  184>9,  notwithstanding  his  large  business, 
Mr.  Choate  had  been  too  careless,  both  in  charges  and  in  col- 
lections, to  realize  an  adequate  return  for  his  services.  He 
seemed,  indeed,  to  be  the  only  person  who  placed  a  low  esti- 
mate upon  the  value  of  his  own  labors.  The  client  almost 
determined  for  himself  what  he  should  pay,  and  several  cases 
actually  occurred  where  the  advocate  rated  his  services  so 
ridiculously  low  that  the  client  would  not  be  satisfied  until  the 
charges  were  doubled.  The  amount  of  the  fee  never  affected 
Mr.  Choate's  willingness  to  take  a  case,  or  the  earnestness 
with  which  he  threw  himself  into  it.  It  was  the  case,  and 
not  the  reward,  which  stimulated  his  mind. 

On  first  opening  his  office  he  kept  no  book  of  accounts. 
Being,  however,  at  one  time,  apparently,  struck  with  a  sudden 
fit  of  economy,  he  obtained  a  proper  book,  and  entered,  as  the 
first  item  of  an  orderly  expenditure,  the  office  debtor  to  one 
quart  of  oil,  3/^  cents.  The  next  entry  was  six  months  later, 
and  closed  the  record. 

He  was  generous  to  a  fault.  Whoever  asked,  received. 
Any  one,  almost  literally  any  one,  could  draw  from  him  five 
or  ten  dollars ;  and  his  office  was  sometimes  quite  besieged 
with  solicitors  of  charity.  To  some  objects  he  gave  regularly. 
Among  these  was  a  very  worthy  man,  but  indigent,  and  a 
confirmed   invalid.     "  On  one  occasion,"  says  the  gentleman 


284  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

who  often  acted  as  the  almoner  of  his  bounty,  "  he  requeued 
me  to  call  at  his  office  at  the  earhest  opportunity.  After 
making-  the  usual  inquiries  about  our  friend  and  his  sufferings, 
and  expressing  his  sympathy,  he  said :  '  I  believe  I  have  been 
neglectful  of  his  wants  for  a  year  or  two  past.'  Then,  with 
one  of  his  nervous  shudders,  he  seized  his  pen  and  filled  out  a 
check  for  fifty  dollars  ;  and  he  would  not  make  the  least  abate- 
ment, though  I  assured  him  our  friend  did  not  stand  in  any 
present  need  of  such  a  munificent  donation." 

Many  came  to  borrow  of  him,  and  almost  always  success- 
fully, if  he  were  not  himself  pressed  for  money.  Of  these  he 
frequently  took  neither  note  nor  obligation  of  any  sort  in  return, 
and  the  transactions  were  frequently  forgotten.  When  asked 
why  he  did  not  try  to  collect  of  his  borrowers,  "  Ah,"  he  re- 
plied, "many  of  them  are  cologne  bottles  without  any  stoppers." 

He  was,  indeed,  most  indifferent  to  money ;  careless  of 
keeping  it,  and  losing,  without  question,  thousands  of  dollars 
every  year  from  neglecting  to  make  any  charge  at  all  for  his 
services.  "  I  remember,"  says  a  gentleman  who  studied  with 
him,  "  that  one  morning  he  came  rushing  into  his  office  for 
^500,  remarking,  in  his  sportive  way,  '  My  kingdom  for 
|.500  ;  have  I  got  it  ^  '  He  went  to  his  blue  bank-book, 
looked  at  it  and  said,  '  Not  a  dollar,  not  a  dollar,'  and  was 
going  out,  either  to  borrow  or  collect,  when  I  stopped  him. 
The  old  book  had  been  filled,  and  the  teller  had  given  him  a 
new  one  without  entering  in  it  the  amount  to  his  credit,  the 
month  not  being  ended  when  the  accounts  were  usually  bal- 
anced. I  showed  him  the  old  book,  and  there  was  a  balance 
in  his  favor  of  ^1200.  He  looked  surprised,  and  said,  'Thank 
God.'  But  if  the  ^1200  had  disappeared,  he  never  would 
have  been  the  wiser." 

It  could  be  no  surprise,  then,  to  those  who  knew  his  habit, 
that  in  his  early  career  he  accumulated  very  little  property. 
For  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life,  through  the  care  of  his  part- 
ner, his  affairs  were  managed  with  more  method,  and  with 
growing  prosperity.  Even  then,  however,  when  it  became 
necessary  for  Mr.  Choate  himself  to  fix  the  scale  of  his  remu- 
neration, it  fell  about  to  the  old  standard,  until  his  junior 
learned  to  regulate  the  amount  of  their  charges  by  those  of 
the  eminent  counsel  to  whom  they  were  generally  opposed. 


Chap.  XL]  MANNER   TO  A  JURY.  235 

The  averajsi-e  annual  receipts  of  his  office  for  the  eleven 
years  from  184<9  to  1859,  inclusive,  were  nearly  ^18,000. 
The  largest  receipts  were  in  1S52,  when  they  amounted  to 
more  than  ^!20,000 ;  in  1S55,  when  they  were  nearly 
$521,000;  and  1856,  when  they  somewhat  exceeded  |22,000. 
In  only  one  year  of  the  eleven  did  they  fall  below  $13,000. 
The  largest  fee  Mr.  Choate  ever  received  was  $!2500.  An 
equal  one  was  given,  so  far  as  is  known,  on  but  four  occa- 
sions. A  fee  of  from  $1500  to  $.'2000  was  more  frequent; 
and  he  once  received  a  retaining  fee  of  $1500.  During 
these  eleven  years  his  engagements  in  actual  trials,  law  ar- 
guments, and  arguments  before  the  legislature,  amounted  to 
a  yearly  average  of  nearly  seventy. 

Always  free  of  his  services,  there  was  one  which,  how- 
ever great  or  costly  to  himself,  was  always  rendered  without 
charge.  I  refer  to  his  exertions  in  political  contests.  He 
was  frequently  importuned  to  receive  compensation,  as  the 
labor  was  frequently  most  wearisome  and  exhaustive.  But 
as  a  matter  of  charactei',  and  to  keep  himself  pure  from  the 
semblance  of  stain,  and  broad  and  independent  in  his  pub- 
lic course,  he  uniformly  refused.  He  prided  himself  on  his 
honor  and  purity  in  his  relations  to  the  State. 

When  approaching  the  argument  of  a  great  cause,  or  the 
delivery  of  an  important  speech,  his  mind  was  absolutely  ab- 
sorbed with  it.  The  lights  were  left  burning  all  night  in 
his  library,  and  after  retiring  he  would  frequently  rise  from 
his  bed,  and,  without  dressing,  rush  to  his  desk  to  note  rapidly 
some  thougrht  which  flashed  across  his  wakeful  mind.  This 
was  repeated  sometimes  ten  or  fifteen  times  in  a  night.  Being 
once  engaged  in  the  trial  of  an  important  case  in  an  inland 
county  of  Massachusetts,  his  room  at  the  tavern  happened  to 
open  into  that  of  the  opposing  counsel,  who,  waking  about 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  was  surprised  to  see  a  bright  light 
gleaming  under  and  around  the  loosely  fitting  door.  Suppos- 
ing that  Mr.  Choate,  who  had  retired  early,  might  have  been 
taken  suddenly  ill,  he  entered  his  room  and  found  him  dressed 
and  standing  before  a  small  table  which  he  had  placed  upon 
chairs,  with  four  candles  upon  it,  vigorously  writing.  Apol- 
ogies and  explanations  at  once  followed,  Mr.  Choate  saying 
that  he   was   wakeful,   had    slept   enough,   and   the   expected 


2S6  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

contest  of  the  morrow  stimulated  him  to  every  possible  prep- 
aration. 

Every  important  and  difficult  cause  took  such  possession  of 
him  that  he  would  get  no  sound  sleep  till  it  was  finished.  His 
mind,  to  use  his  own  illustration,  became  a  stream  that  took 
up  the  cause,  like  a  ship,  and  bore  it  on  night  and  day  till  the 
verdict  or  judgment  was  reached.  It  is  not  surprising,  then, 
that  he  came  from  a  trial  so  much  exhausted.  Almost  every 
considerable  case  was  attended  or  followed  with  a  severe  at- 
tack of  sick-headache.  But  his  recuperative  power  was  as 
wonderful  as  his  capacity  for  work.  A  friend  once  asked  how 
long  it  took  him  to  recover  from  the  wear  of  a  heavy  case, 
and  how  long  to  enter  into  a  new  case  with  full  force.  He 
said,  that  often  three  or  four  hours  were  enough  to  recover 
in,  and  almost  always  a  day.  As  to  getting  into  a  case,  he 
said,  that  the  momeiit  his  eye  struck  a  hooJi,  or  legal  paper ^ 
the  subject  lifted  him,  and  that  five  minutes  were  sufficient 
to  give  him  full  power  for  work  and  command  of  his  fac- 
ulties.    He  was  then  in  full  sail. 

Although  so  familiar  with  the  courts,  and  always  master 
of  himself,  he  was  often  filled  with  a  nervous  agitation  when 
approaching  the  argument,  sometimes  saying  that  he  "  should 
certainly  break  down  ;  every  man  must  fail  at  some  time,  and 
his  hour  had  come."  However  deeply  absorbed  in  the  cause 
before  him,  he  seemed  to  see  everything  that  was  going  on  in 
the  court-room.  As  he  was  once  addressing  a  jury,  a  woman 
in  a  distant  part  of  the  court-room  rose  and  went  out,  with 
some  rustling  of  silk.  Being  asked  afterwards  if  he  noticed 
it,  "  Noticed  it ! "  he  said,  "  I  thought  forty  battalions  were 
moving." 

With  a  vocabulary  so  rich,  and  a  fancy  so  lively,  it  is  not 
surprising  that  he  sometimes  gave  license  to  his  powers,  and 
now  and  then  "  drove  a  substantive  and  six,"  but  no  one  could 
at  will  be  more  exact,  or  more  felicitously  combine  the  utmost 
precision  with  the  most  delicious  music  of  words.  Ever  alive 
to  the  ludicrous,  he  often  dexterously  caught  up  cant  phrases, 
or  poi)ular  terms  of  the  day,  and  eviscerating  them  of  every- 
thing like  vulgarity,  forced  them  for  a  moment  into  his  service 
—  all  redolent  of  the  novel  odors  of  the  field,  the  market,  or 
the  fireside,  where  they  had  their  birth  —  and  then  dismissed 
them  forever. 


HIS  WIT  AND  HUMOR. 


S87 


"  His  wit,"  says  one  who  knew  him  well,  "  was  of  the 
most  delightful  kind,  playful  and  pungent,  and  his  conversa- 
tion was  full  of  the  aptest  quotation,  always,  however,  jparch 
deiorta.,  so  as  to  take  off  any  possible  tinge  of  pedantr^^  and 
generally  with  a  more  or  less  ludicrous  application.  He  was 
fond  of  bringing  out  the  etymology  of  words  in  his  use  of 
them,  as,  for  example,  when  speaking  of  a  disappointed  candi- 
date for  an  important  nomination,  he  said,  the  convention 
"ejaculated  him  out  at  the  window;"  and  of  new  and  odd 
applications  of  their  figurative  meanings,  as  when  he  said  of  a 
very  ugly  artist  who  had  produced  a  too  faithful  representa- 
tion of  himself,  "Mr. has  painted  his  own  portrait  and  it 

is  ?i  flagrant  likeness." 

His  wit  and  humor  were  fresh  and  peculiar ;  seldom  pro- 
voking loud  laughter,  but  perpetually  feeding  the  mind  with 
delight.  He  never  prepared  nor  reserved  his  good  things  for 
a  grand  occasion,  and  to  those  who  knew  him  best  was  as  full 
of  surprises  as  to  a  stranger.  In  the  little  office  of  a  justice 
of  the  peace, —  in  a  retired  room  of  a  railroad  depot,  in 
presence  of  a  few  interested  members  of  the  corporation,  — 
before  two  or  three  sensible,  but  not  brilliant,  referees  in  the 
hall  of  a  country  tavern,  he  displayed  nearly  the  same  abun- 
dance of  learning-,  the  same  exuberance  of  language,  and  felicity 
of  allusion,  the  same  playfulness  and  beauty,  as  when  he  spoke 
before  the  most  learned  bench,  or  the  elegant  and  cultivated 
assemblies  of  Boston.  This  might  seem  like  a  reckless  expen- 
diture of  unnecessary  wealth.  In  one  sense,  perhaps,  it  was 
so  ;  yet  he  had  a  marvellous  faculty  of  adaptation,  as  well  as 
the  higher  power  of  drawing  all  to  himself,  and  I  doubt  if 
anybody  ever  listened  to  him  with  greater  delight  and  admi- 
ration than  plain,  substantial  yeomen  who  might  not  be  able  to 
miderstand  one  in  a  hundred  of  his  allusions.  They  under- 
stood quite  enough  to  delight  and  convince  them,  as  well  as  to 
afford  food  for  much  laughter,  and,  if  they  chose,  for  much 
meditation. 

The  sweetness  of  his  temper  so  pervaded  and  controlled 
everything  that  he  said,  that  although  peculiarities  of  char- 
acter, or  circumstances,  or  manner,  or  appearance,  some- 
times drew  down  the  flash  of  his  pleasantry,  as  the  un- 
guarded spire  the  lightning  from  the  surcharged  cloud,  it  was 


288  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

a  harmless  bolt,  unless,  (which  was  very  rarely  the  case,) 
he  was  provoked  by  injustice  or  harshness  to  give  proof  of 
his  power.  Sayings  of  his,  innumerable,  have  been  current 
among  the  members  of  the  bar,  but  I  never  heard  of  a  man 
who  felt  aggrieved  by  any  of  them.  His  regard  for  Chief 
Justice  Shaw  amounted  to  veneration.  "  With  what  judge," 
he  once,  in  substance,  said,  "  can  you  see  your  antagonist 
freely  conversing,  without  the  slightest  apprehension,  as  you 
can  with  him  ^  "  Looking  once  at  an  engraving  of  Sir  Mat- 
thew Hale,  "  A  very  great  judge,"  he  said,  "  but  not  greater, 
I  think,  than  the  Chief,"  as  Judge  Shaw  was  familiarly 
called.  An  eminent  lawyer,  engaged  with  him  in  a  case, 
was  once  rising  to  contest  what  seemed  an  unfavorable,  if  not 
an  unfair,  ruling.  Mr.  Clioate  drew  him  back  and  whispered 
in  his  ear,  "  Let  it  go.  Sit  down.  Life,  liberty,  and  prop- 
erty are  always  safe  in  his  hands."  One  anecdote  has  been 
often  told  incorrectly,  and  so  as  to  convey  a  wrong  impres- 
sion, which  I  am  able  to  give  in  the  words  of  an  eminent 
lawyer,  who  was  himself  an  actor  in  the  scene.  "  It  was  in 
the  East  Cambridge  court-house,  at  the  law  term.  The 
full  Bench  were  present;  a  tedious  argument  had  been  drag- 
ging its  weary  length  along  for  an  hour  or  two  ;  the  session 
had  lasted  several  hours,  and  the  Chief  Justice  had  yielded 
for  a  moment  to  drowsiness,  —  being  no  more  than  mortal. 
Mr.  Choate  and  I  were  sitting  in  the  bar,  being  concerned  in 
the  next  case.  As  I  looked  up  at  the  Bench,  the  large  head 
of  the  Chief  Justice  presented  itself  settled  down  upon  his 
breast  about  as  far  as  it  could  go,  his  eyes  closed,  his  hair 
shaggy  and  disordered,  having  on  a  pair  of  large  black  spec- 
tacles which  had  slid  down  to  the  very  tip  of  his  nose,  and 
his  face  seeming  to  have  discharged,  for  the  time,  every  trace 
of  intelligence, 

I  looked,  and  then  looked  at  Mr.  Choate,  whose  eyes  had  fol- 
lowed mine,  and  then  said  to  him,  '  that  notwithstanding  the 
curious  spectacle  he  sometinies  furnished  us,  I  could  never 
look  at  the  Chief  Justice  without  reverence.'  '  Nor  can  I,' 
he  replied.  '  When  you  consider  for  how  many  years,  and 
with  what  strength  and  wisdom  he  has  administered  the  law, 

1  Iliad,  III.,  220. 


Chap.  XL]  CONVERSATION.  ggQ 

—  how  steady  he  has  kept  everything,  —  how  much  we  owe 
to  his  weight  of  character,  —  I  confess  I  regard  him  as  the 
Indian  does  his  wooden  log,  curiously  carved  ;  I  acknowledge 
he's  ugly,  hut  I  bow  before  a  superior  intelligence  ! '  You 
can  imagine  the  twinkle  of  the  eye,  and  the  parenthetical  tone 
with  which  the  '  I  acknowledge  he's  ugly'  came  in.  I  hope 
you  will  be  able  to  get  together  many  of  Mr.  Choate's  felici- 
ties ;  they  must  abound  in  all  memories." 

His  pleasantry  was  exuberant  and  unfailing,  in  defeat  as 
well  as  in  victory.  It  was  a  safeguard  against  depression  and 
discouragement.  Receiving,  one  morning,  a  note  from  a  gen- 
tlemen engaged  with  him  in  a  cause  at  Washington,  inform- 
ing him  that  the  Court  had  decided  against  them,  he  at  once 
wrote  back : 

"  Dear  Sir, —  The  Court  has  lost  its  little  wits.     Please  let  me  have 

—  1.  Our  brief,  (for  the  law.)  2.  The  defendant's  brief,  (for  the  soph- 
istry.)    3.  The  opinion,  (for  the  foolishness,)  and  never  say  die. 

"R.  C." 

He  was  rather  fond  of  talking  of  his  contemporaries,  but 
rarely  spoke  of  any  of  them  otherwise  than  kindly  and  favor- 
ably, — lingering  upon  their  merits,  and  passing  over  their 
failings.  Occasionally,  after  speaking  of  others,  he  would 
refer  to  himself  in  the  same  connection.  Conversing  one  day 
with  a  young  friend  about  Mr.  Franklin  Dexter,  then  just 
deceased,  he  eulogized  him  as  a  most  able,  faithful,  and  con- 
scientious prosecuting  officer,  who  never  pressed  an  indictment 
for  the  sake  of  victory,  nor  unless  he  believed  that  a  verdict 
against  the  accused  would  fulfil  the  highest  ends  of  justice. 
He  then  proceeded  to  speak  in  general  terms  of  the  responsi- 
bility of  a  public  prosecutor,  and  of  his  own  deep  sense  of 
this  responsibility  while  Attorney-General.  He  was  solemn 
and  earnest,  and  left  a  profound  impression  that  never  while 
holding  that  office  was  he  entirely  free  from  anxiety  that 
nothing  should  be  done  by  him,  or  through  his  means,  by 
which  a  possibly  innocent  prisoner  should  lose  his  legal 
chances  of  acquittal. 

When  talking  with  a  client,  respecting  a  defence,  his  rule 
was,  never  to  ask  him  whether  he  did  the  act ;  yet  he  was 
very  watchful  for  signs  of  innocence  or  guilt.  After  an  inter- 
view with  a  person  who  consulted  him  as  to  a  disgraceful 

VOL.  I.  25 


ggO  MEMOIR   OF  EUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

imputation  under  which  he  was  laboring,  he  remarked,  "  He 
did  it,  he  sweats  so." 

Although  one  could  hardly  converse  with  Mr.  Choate  for 
five  minutes  without  hearing  some  remark  striking  for  its 
beauty,  or  novelty,  or  humor,  yet  few  of  these  sayings  have 
been  recorded,  and  in  most  cases,  where  the  thought  has 
remained,  the  rare  felicity  of  language  which  graced  it  has 
escaped  the  memory,  and  the  strange,  indescribable  fascina- 
tion of  manner  with  which  it  was  accompanied  no  one  can 
reproduce.  Any  one  who  has  a  fresh  recollection  of  the 
impression  produced  at  the  time  by  some  sudden  flash  of  his 
mind,  will  be  the  more  reluctant  to  repeat  what  invariably 
loses  in  the  process.  I  have  been  able  to  gather  up  but  a 
few  of  these  unpremeditated  sayings.  Those  who  knew  Mr. 
Choate  must  supply  for  themselves  the  tone  and  manner. 

The  qualifications  of  a  certain  office  holder  being  discussed 
in  his  presence,  Mr.  Choate  said,  "  Yes,  Sir,  you  may  sum 
them  up  by  asserting  that  he  is  self-sufficient,  all-sufficient, 
and  insufficient." 

A  copy  of  the  "  Poetry  of  the  East,"  by  Rev.  Mr.  Alger, 
had  been  sent  to  him.  Meeting  the  author  at  a  party  soon 
after,  he  remarked  to  him,  "  I  examined  your  '  Poetry  of  the 
East '  with  a  great  deal  of  interest.  The  Orientals  seem  to 
be  amply  competent  to  metaphysics,  wonderfully  competent  to 
poetry,  scarcely  competent  to  virtue,  utterly  wzcompetent  to 
liberty." 

For  the  following  I  am  indebted  to  the  kindness  of  Mr. 
Ticknor :  — "  Mr.  Choate  was  of  counsel  in  the  case  of  the 
Federal-Street  Church,  and  I  was  summoned  as  a  witness. 
Sitting  with  him  in  the  bar,  after  I  had  been  examined,  my 
eye  fell  accidentally  on  his  notes,  which,  you  are  aware,  were 
somewhat  remarkable,  so  far  as  the  handwriting  was  con- 
cerned. It  struck  me,  however,  while  I  was  looking  at  them, 
that  they  nmch  resembled  two  rather  long  autograph  letters 
which  I  preserve  in  my  small  collection  of  such  curiosities ; 
one  by  Manuel  the  Great  of  Portugal,  dated  in  1512,  and  the 
other  by  Gonzalvo  de  Cordova,  '  the  Great  Captain,'  written, 
I  suppose,  a  little  earlier,  but  with  no  date  that  I  can  make 
out.  I  could  not  help  telling  Mr.  Choate  that  I  possessed 
these  specimens  of  the  handwriting  of  two  such  remarkable 


Chap.  XL]  ANECDOTES.  ggi 

men,  who  lived  tliree  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  and  that 
they  strongly  resembled  his  notes,  as  they  lay  on  the  table 
before  us.  '  Remarkable  men,  no  doubt,'  he  replied  instantly; 
'  they  seem  to  have  been  much  in  advance  of  their  time !'  " 

This,  said  with  his  peculiar  suavity  and  droll  expression, 
the  singularity  of  the  comparison  and  the  grounds  of  praise, 
was  like  a  little  flash  of  sunlight  through  a  cloud. 

Taking  an  early  morning  walk  he  met  Mr.  Prescott,  whose 
"  Philip  II."  had  been  for  some  time  impatiently  expected. 
"  You  are  out  early,"  said  the  historian.  "  I  wish,"  he  re- 
plied, "  I  could  say  the  same  of  you,  who  are  keeping  the 
whole  world  waiting." 

A  celebrated  lecturer  meeting  him,  said  that  he  was  think- 
ing of  writing  a  lecture  on  one  of  the  ancient  generals. 
"  That  is  it,"  said  Mr.  Choate  ;  "  Hannibal  is  your  man. 
Think  of  him  crossing  the  Alps  in  winter,  with  nobody  at  his 
back  but  a  parcel  of  Numidians,  Moors,  Niggers,  riding  on 
horses  without  any  bridles,  to  set  himself  against  that  imperial 
Roman  power !  " 

Attending  the  opera  on  one  occasion,  and  being  but  indif- 
ferently amused  by  the  acting  and  music,  which  he  did  not 
understand,  he  turned  to  his  daughter  and  said,  with  grave 
formality :  "  Helen,  interpret  to  me  this  libretto,  lest  I  dilate 
with  the  wrong  emotion  !  " 

"  He  objected  once  to  an  illiterate  constable's  return  of 
service,  bristling  all  over  with  the  word  having^  on  the  ground 
that  it  was  bad.  The  judge  remarked  that,  though  inelegant 
and  ungrammatical  in  its  structure,  the  paper  still  seemed  to  be 
good  in  a  legal  sense.  '  It  may  be  so,  your  Honor,'  replied 
Mr.  Choate,  '  but,  it  must  be  confessed,  he  has  greatly  over- 
loorlced  the  participle.'  "  -^ 

In  replying  to  a  lawyer  who  had  been  addressing  the  Court 
in  a  loud  and  almost  boisterous  manner,  Mr.  Choate  referred 
playfully  to  his  "  stentorian  powers."  To  his  surprise,  how- 
ever, the  counsel  took  it  in  dudgeon,  and  as  soon  as  possible 
rose  to  protest  against  the  hostile  assault.  "  He  had  not  been 
aware  of  anything  in  his  mode  of  address  which  would  justify 
such  an  epithet ;  he  thought  it  unusual  and  undeserved,"  &c., 
&c.  Going  on  thus,  his  voice  unconsciously  soon  rose  again 
1  Essays  by  E.  P.  Whipple,  vol.  ii.  p.  167. 


0,g2  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

to  its  highest  key,  and  rung  through  the  court-house  as  if  he 
were  haranguing  an  army ;  when  Mr.  Choate  half  rose,  and 
stretching  out  his  hand  with  a  deprecatory  gesture,  said,  in  the 
blandest  tones,  "  One  word,  may  it  please  the  Court ;  only 
one  word,  if  my  brother  will  allow.  /  see  my  mistake.  I 
beg  leave  to  retract  what  I  said!"  The  effect  was  irresistible. 
The  counsel  was  silent;  the  Court  and  spectators  convulsed 
with  laughter. 

Of  a  lawyer  at  once  pugnacious,  obstinate,  and  dull-witted, 
he  remarked  that  he  seemed  to  be  a  bull-dog  with  confused 
ideas.     The  description  was  comprehensive  and  perfect. 

During  the  trial  of  Crafts,  Mr.  Choate  was  pressing  the 
Court  to  make  what  he  thought  a  very  equitable  and  necessary 
order  in  relation  to  taking  a  certain  deposition.  The  Court, 
finding  no  precedent  for  it,  suggested  that  the  matter  be  sus- 
pended till  the  next  day,  "  and  then,"  added  the  judge,  "  I  will 
make  the  order,  if  you  shall  be  able  to  furnish  me  with  any 
precedent  for  such  proceeding."  "  I  will  look,  your  Honor," 
replied  Mr.  Choate,  in  his  most  deferential  manner,  "  and 
endeavor  to  find  a  precedent,  if  you  require  it ;  though  it  would 
seem  to  be  a  pity  that  the  Court  should  lose  the  honor  of  being 
the  first  to  establish  so  just  a  rule." 

"  I  met  him  once,"  said  a  member  of  the  New- York  Bar,^ 
"at  the  United  States  Hotel,  in  Boston,  when  he  was  boarding 
there.  As  we  were  walking  up  and  down  the  hall  of  the 
house  after  dinner,  I  happened  to  see  hanging  on  the  wall  a 
map  of  a  piece  of  property  in  Quincy,  and  remarked  that  that 
reminded  me  of  one  whom  I  must  regard  as  the  most  remark- 
able man  of  our  day  (John  Quincy  Adams).  He  said,  '  Yes, 
I  think  he  is.  We  have  no  man  as  much  so,  and  I  think  they 
have  none  in  England.  The  Duke  I  think  is  less  wonderful, 
all  things  considered.'  I  spoke  of  his  remarkable  memory, 
his  vast  knowledge  and  his  marvellous  facility  in  using  it,  and 
alluded  to  his  recent  efforts  in  the  House  of  Representatives 
at  Washington,  where  something  had  been  said  about  impeach- 
ing him,  and  remarked,  that  without  waiting  to  assume  the 
defensive,  or  say  anything  for  himself,  he  had  rushed  upon 
his  accusers  and  wellnigh  demolished  them,  bringing  from 
the  treasures  of  his  memory  every  incident  of  their  lives  that 
1  From  the  memorandum  of  Hon.  Charles  A.  Peabody. 


Chap.  XL]  HIS  ELOQUENCE.  ^93 

could  be  useful  to  him,  and  drawing  as  from  an  armory  every 
variety  of  weapons  practicable  for  tjieir  destruction.  '  Yes,' 
he  replied,  '  he  has  always  untold  treasures  of  facts,  and  they 
are  always  at  his  command.  He  has  peculiar  powers  as  an 
assailant,  and  almost  always,  even  when  attacked,  gets  himself 
into  that  attitude  by  making  war  upon  his  accuser;  and  he 
has,  withal,  an  instinct  for  the  j'ugulm^  and  the  carotid  artery^ 
as  unerring  as  that  of  any  carnivorous  animat.' " 

Mr.  Choate's  eloquence  was  of  an  extraordinary  nature, 
which  one  who  never  heard  him  can  hardly  understand.  It 
was  complex,  like  his  mind ;  at  once  broad  and  subtle  ;  easily 
understood  but  impossible  to  describe ;  compact  with  all  the  el- 
ements of  beauty  and  of  power  ;  a  spell  composed  of  all  things 
rich  and  strange,  to  fascinate,  persuade,  and  convince.  It  was 
not  by  accident  that  he  reached  such  success  as  an  advocate, 
but  through  profound  study  and  severe  training.  Not  to 
speak  of  that  which  lies  at  the  basis  of  all  permanent  success, 
a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  law  as  a  science,  as  well  as  in 
its  forms,  he  was  remarkable  for  sound  judgment  in  the 
preparation  and  management  of  a  cause.  He  knew  instinc- 
tively what  to  affirm  and  what  to  yield.  He  chose  the  point 
of  attack  or  defence  with  consummate  skill ;  and  if  he  did  not 
succeed,  it  was  because  success  w^as  not  possible.  His  mind 
moved  like  a  flash,  and  an  unguarded  point,  a  flaw  in  an  argu- 
ment, an  unwise  theory  of  procedure,  a  charge  somewhat  too 
strong  or  a  little  beside  the  real  purpose,  w^re  seized  upon 
with  almost  absolute  certainty  and  turned  with  damaging 
effect  against  his  opponents.  In  the  preparation  of  a  case  he 
left  nothing  to  accident  which  he  could  fix  by  care  and  labor. 
In  determining  a  theory  of  defence,  he  was  endless  in  sugges- 
tions and  hypotheses  till  the  one  was  chosen  which  seemed 
impregnable,  or  at  any  rate  the  best  that  could  be  found.  In 
consultation  he  generally  looked  first  at  his  opponent's  side, 
then  at  his  own  ;  stating  in  full  force  every  unfavorable  argu- 
ment, and  then  endeavoring  to  answer  them,  thus  playing  the 
whole  through  like  a  game  of  chess.  In  these  cases  his  atten- 
tion was  given  not  only  to  a  general  proposition  but  to  all  its 
details.  A  person  once  prosecuted  the  city  to  recover  dam- 
ages for  injuries  received  by  a  fall  in  consequence  of  a  defect 
in  a  bridge.     At  the  ,first  meeting  for  consultation  with  the 

25* 


2g4f  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XI. 

junior  counsel  he  spent  an  hour  in  determining  exactly  how  one 
could  so  catch  his  foot  in  a  hole  as  to  be  thrown  in  the  way 
to  produce  the  specific  injury,  till  by  means  of  the  fender  and 
coal-hod,  with  the  tongs  and  shovel,  he  constructed  a  rude 
model  of  the  dilapidated  bridge,  and  satisfied  himself  of  the 
precise  manner  in  which  the  accident  happened.  No  man 
was  ever  more  courageous  than  he  for  his  client.  Sometimes 
he  seemed  to  run  prodigious  risks  ;  but  he  knew  his  ground, 
and  when  once  taken,  nothing  would  beat  him  from  it.  His 
plea  of  somnambulism  in  Tirrell's  case  subjected  him  to  a 
thousand  innuendoes,  to  the  bantering  of  the  newspapers  and 
the  ridicule  of  the  vulgar.  The  jury  themselves  said  that 
in  coming  to  their  verdict,  they  did  not  consider  it.  But  in 
the  second  trial  he  brought  it  forward  with  just  as  much 
assurance  as  ever. 

His  knowledge  of  human  nature  was  intuitive.  At  a 
glance  he  formed  a  judgment  of  the  jurymen,  and  governed 
himself  accordingly,  sometimes  addressing  each  individual 
according  to  his  perception  of  their  several  characteristics, 
repeating  and  varying  his  arguments  till  every  mind  was 
reached.  However  forcible  or  strong,  he  never  was  harsh 
or  coarse.  In  no  orator  were  the  elements  of  conviction  and 
persuasion  so  beautifully  blended.  His  conviction  was  per- 
suasive ;  his  persuasion,  convincing.  More  truly  than  was 
said  of  Fox,  "  his  intellect  was  all  feeling,  and  his  feeling  all 
intellect."  No  juryman  was  ever  weary  with  his  argument. 
The  dryest  matter  of  fact  was  enlivened  by  some  unexpected 
turn  of  humor,  or  unthought-of  illustration.  His  logic  never 
assumed  technical  forms,  but  was  enveloped  and  carried  on- 
ward in  narrative  and  illustration. 

In  his  arguments  to  a  jury,  his  openings  were  natural,  easy, 
and  informal.  He  glided  into  a  subject  so  gently  that  you 
hardly  knew  it.  He,  oftener  than  otherwise,  began  with  a 
general  statement  of  the  whole  case,  making  a  clear  and  defi- 
nite outline,  which  no  one  could  fail  to  understand  and  remem- 
ber. He  then  proceeded  to  a  careful  and  protracted  analysis 
of  the  evidence  ;  his  theory  of  the  case,  in  the  mean  time,  had 
been  pretty  broadly  broached,  and  his  propositions,  perhaps, 
laid  down,  and  repeated  with  every  variety  of  statement  which 
seemed  necessary  for   his    purpose.      Often   his   theory  was 


Chap.  XL]         HIS   POWER   OVER   AN   AUDIENCE.  295 

insinuated  rather  than  stated,  and  the  jury  were  led  insensibly 
to  form  it  for  themselves.  His  skill  in  narrative  was  equal 
to  his  cogency  in  argument.  He  had  a  wonderful  power  of 
vivid  portraiture,  —  of  compressing  an  argument  into  a  word, 
or  phrase,  or  illustration. 

No  one  could  make  a  more  clear,  convincing,  and  effective 
statement ;  none  held  all  the  resources  of  the  language  more 
absolutely  at  command.  His  power  over  the  sympathies,  by 
which,  from  the  first  word  he  uttered,  you  were  drawn  to 
him  with  a  strange  and  inexplicable  attraction,  was  wonder- 
ful. Court,  jury,  and  spectators  seemed  fused  into  one  mass 
of  willing  and  delighted  listeners.  They  could  not  help  being 
influenced  by  him.  Calming  the  hostility  of  his  hearers  by 
kindness,  conciliating  their  prejudices,  converting  them  into 
friends,  bending  their  will  to  his  in  delightful  harmony,  he 
moved  on  with  irresistible  force,  boiling  along  his  course,  tu- 
multuous but  beautiful,  lifting-  them  bodily,  bearing  all  with 
him,  and  prostrating  all  before  him.  His  pleasantry  and  wit, 
his  grotesque  exaggerations,  nev^er  gross  or  vulgar,  served  to 
wake  up  a  sleepy  juryman,  or  relieve  a  dry  detail.  They  lu- 
bricated the  wheels  of  a  long  train  of  discussion.  He  often 
put  himself  so  far  as  he  could,  really  or  jocosely  yet  half  in 
earnest,  into  sympathy  with  his  opponents  themselves.  In  the 
Dalton  case  he  professed  at  the  outset  that  he  spoke  in  the 
interest  of  both  parties.  In  the  case  of  Shaw  vs.  The  Boston 
and  Worcester  Railroad,  which  was  contested  with  a  good  deal 
of  feeling,  coming  to  the  close  of  his  argument  he  said,  turn- 
ing round  and  facing  the  President  of  the  road,  "  My  friends, 
the  President  and  Directors  of  the  Boston  and  Worcester  Rail- 
road, honorable  and  high-minded  men  as  I  know  them  to  be, 
have  probably  considered  that  they  should  not  be  justified  in 
paying  to  the  plaintiff  the  large  sum  of  money  claimed  in  this 
case  without  the  protection  of  a  judgment  in  a  suit  at  law  ; 
but  I  have  no  doubt,  gentlemen,  if  you  establish  the  liability, 
every  one  of  them  would  lay  his  hand  on  his  heart  and  say, 
'  Give  her  all  that  she  asks,  and  God  bless  her  ! '  " 

Mr.  Choate  never  lost  self-possession.  He  seemed  to  have 
the "  surest  mastery  of  himself  in  the  moment  of  greatest 
excitement.  He  was  never  beside  himself  with  passion  or 
anxiety,   and   seldom   disconcerted   by  any  accident  or  unex- 


2gQ  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XI. 

pected  posture  of  affairs,  —  so  ver?/  seldom  indeed,  that  the 
one  or  two  cases  where  he  was  shghtly  so,  are  pretty  dis- 
tinctly remembered.  One  instance  occurred  in  the  trial  of  a 
question  of  salvage.  It  was  the  case  of  The  Missouri,  an 
American  vessel  stranded  on  the  coast  of  Sumatra,  with  specie 
on  board.  The  master  of  the  stranded  vessel,  one  Dixey,  and 
Pitman,  the  master  of  the  vessel  that  came  to  her  aid,  agreed 
together  to  embezzle  the  greater  part  of  the  specie,  and  pre- 
tend that  they  had  been  robbed  of  it  by  the  Malays.  Mr. 
Choate  was  cross-examining  Dixey  very  closely  to  get  out  of 
him  the  exact  time  and  nature  of  the  agreement.  The  wit- 
ness said  that  Pitman  proposed  the  scheme,  and  that  he 
objected  to  it,  among  other  reasons,  as  dangerous.  To  which, 
he  said,  Pitman  made  a  suggestion  intended  to  satisfy  him. 
Mr.  Choate  insisted  on  knowing  what  that  suggestion  was. 
The  witness  relucted  at  giving  it.  Mr.  Choate  was  peremp- 
tory, and  the  scene  became  interesting.  "  Well,"  said  Dixey 
at  last,  "  if  you  must  know,  he  said  that  if  any  trouble  came 
of  it  we  could  have  Rufus  Choate  to  defend  us,  and  he  would 
get  us  off  if  we  were  caught  with  the  money  in  our  boots." 
It  was  several  minutes  before  the  Court  could  go  on  with  the 
business.  For  some  time  Mr.  Choate  seemed  very  uncertain 
how  to  take  it.  He  did  not  relish  the  nature  of  the  compli- 
ment, and  yet  it  was  a  striking  tribute  to  his  fame  that  two 
men,  at  the  antipodes,  should  concoct  a  great  fraud  relying 
upon  his  genius  to  save  them  ;  and  so  the  opposing  counsel, 
Mr.  Dana,  put  it,  in  his  argument,  aptly  quoting  the  Quce 
regio  in  terris. 

His  wit,  his  ludicrous  representations,  his  sublime  exagge- 
rations, were  never  without  a  purpose.  They  were  not  the 
result  of  a  taste  which  delighted  in  such  things  as  beauties  or 
felicities,  but  of  a  desire  to  attract  the  wandering  attention,  to 
fasten  a  thought  by  a  ludicrous  picture,  to  relieve  the  mind  of 
the  weary  jury,  or  to  show  by  an  illustration  the  absurdity  of 
the  proposition  he  was  combating. 

In  an  argument  before  a  conmiittee  of  the  Legislature  in 
1860,  in  behalf  of  the  petitioners  for  a  railroad  from  Salem 
to  Maiden,  he  drew  one  of  those  pictures  with  which  he  was 
accustomed  to  amuse,  but,  also,  much  more  than  merely  to 
amuse,  a  jury.     One  argument  in  favor  of  the  new  road  was, 


Chap.  XL]  HIS  EXAGGERATIONS.  ggy 

that  it  would  enable  travellers  to  avoid  the  East  Boston  Ferry, 
and  to  gain  in  speed.  In  reply,  the  beauties  of  the  prospect 
in  the  harbor,  and  the  pleasure  of  meeting  friends  on  the  boat, 
were  referred  to,  as  an  offset. 

"  The  learned  though  somewhat  fanciful  gentleman,"  said 
Mr.  Choate,  "  has  eloquently  set  forth  the  delight  which  must 
be  felt  by  all  in  catching  an  occasional  glimpse  of  the  harbor, 
as  they  cross  in  the  boat ;  as  if  the  business  people  of  Dan- 
vers,  Lynn,  or  Saugus,  would  care  to  stop,  or  think  of  stop- 
ping, to  gaze  upon  the  threadbare  and  monotonous  beauties 
of  Boston  Harbor  when  hurrying  to  transact  their  affairs. 
Unfortunately,  too,  for  the  gentleman's  case,  in  this  respect,  it 
so  happens  that  these  same  people  have  compelled  this  com- 
pany to  arch  their  boat  all  over,  and  wall  it  up  all  round,  so 
that  nothing  at  all  can  be  seen.  Then  the  delight  of  meeting 
and  shaking  hands  with  an  old  friend !  Conceive,  gentlemen, 
the  pastoral,  touching,  pathetic  picture  of  tivo  Salem  gentle- 
men, who  have  been  in  the  habit  of  seeing  each  other  a  dozen 
times  a  day  for  the  last  tivenbf-five  years,  almost  rushing  into 
each  others  arms  on  board  the  ferry-boat ;  —  what  trans- 
port !  We  can  only  regret  that  such  felicity  should  be  so 
soon  broken  up  by  the  necessity  of  running  a  race  against 
time,  or  fighting  with  each  other  for  a  seat  in  the  cars." 

The  following  ludicrous  exaggeration  long  held  its  place 
among  the  stories  about  the  court :  — 

In  April,  184<7,  the  Joint  Commissioners  of  Massachusetts 
and  Rhode  Island,  appointed  to  ascertain  and  establish  the 
boundary  line  between  the  two  States,  made  an  agreement  and 
presented  it  to  their  respective  Legislatures. 

Parties  living  in  Massachusetts,  whose  rights  were  affected 
by  this  decision,  petitioned  the  Legislature  against  the  accept- 
ance of  the  Commissioners'  report.  Mr.  Choate  appeared 
for  these  remonstrants.  A  portion  of  the  boundary  line  was 
described  in  the  agreement  as  follows :  "  Beginning,"  &c.,  &c., 
"  thence  to  an  angle  on  the  easterly  side  of  Watuppa  Pond, 
thence  across  the  said  pond  to  the  two  rocks  on  the  westerly 
side  of  said  pond  and  near  thereto,  then  westerly  to  the  but- 
tonwood  tree  in  the  village  of  Fall  River,"  &c.,  &c. 

In  his  argument,  commenting  on  the  boundary,  Mr.  Choate 
thus  referred  to  this  part  of  the  description :  — 


298  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

"  A  boundary  line  between  two  sovereign  States  described 
by  a  couple  of  stones  near  a  pond,  and  a  huttonwood  sapling 
in  a  village !  The  Commissioners  might  as  well  have  defined 
it  as  starting  from  a  blue  jay,  thence  to  a  swarm  of  bees  in 
hiving  time,  and  thence  to  five  hundred  foxes  with  firebrands 
tied  to  their  tails !  " 

Mr.  Choate's  style  was  peculiar,  and  entirely  his  own.  Its 
exuberance,  its  stateliness  and  dignity,  its  music  and  its  wealth, 
were  as  fascinating  as  they  were  inimitable.  One  can  hardly 
fail  to  recognize,  even  in  the  least  characteristic  of  his  speeches, 
a  true  nobleness,  a  touch  of  imperial  grace,  such  as  has  been 
vouchsafed  only  to  the  supreme  masters  of  the  language.  His 
style  has  sometimes  been  criticised  by  those  who  have  forgot- 
ten that  his  speeches  were  meant  for  hearers  rather  than  for 
readers,  and  that  a  mind  of  such  extraordinary  affluence  and 
vigor  will,  of  necessity,  in  many  respects,  be  a  law  to  itself. 
He  was,  however,  quite  aware  that  a  style  of  greater  simplic- 
ity and  severity  would  be  necessary  for  a  writer ;  and  this, 
probably,  was  one  thing  which  prevented  him  from  entering 
seriously  on  those  literary  labors  which  were  evidently,  at  one 
time,  an  object  of  real  interest. 

I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  introduce  here  some  subtle  and 
suggestive  remarks  on  this  subject,  by  an  observant  and 
thoughtful  critic,  —  Rev.  Joseph  Tracy. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  says,  "  that  I  can  describe  suitably, 
on  paper,  that  peculiarity  of  Mr.  Choate's  style  of  which  we 
were  speaking,  and  which  is  so  marked  in  his  famous  '  long 
sentences.'  Many  have  observed  that  it  was  not  wordiness. 
He  had  words  and  used  them,  in  rich  abundance ;  but  if  you 
examine  even  the  most  sounding  of  his  long  sentences,  you 
find  in  them  no  redundant  words.  Each  of  its  several  mem- 
bers is  made  up  of  such  words,  and  of  such  only,  as  were 
needed  for  the  perfect  expression  of  the  thought. 

"  Nor  was  it  in  that  ciunulative  power  by  which  one  idea, 
image,  or  argument,  is  piled  upon  another,  so  as  to  make  up 
an  overwhelming  mass.  He  had  this  power  in  a  remarkable 
degree ;  but  so  had  many  others  —  perhaps  almost  all  great 
orators.     Cicero  has  left  some  splendid  examples  of  it. 

"  It  was  rather  the  result  of  the  peculiar  logical  structure 
of,  his  mind ;  for  in  him  logic  and  rhetoric  were  not  separate 


Chap.  XI.]  HIS  STYLE.  ^99 

departments,  but  one  living  process^  ,  ^e  instinctively  strove 
to  present  an  idea,  a  thought,  in  its  perfect  completeness, — 
the  thought,  the  whole  thought,  and  nothing  but  the  thought ; 
so  to  present  it  that  there  would  be  no  need  of  adding  to  his 
statement  of  it,  subtracting  from  it,  or  in  any  way  modifying 
it,  after  it  had  once  been  made.  He  seemed  to  use  words  not 
exactly  to  convey  ideas  to  his  hearers,  but  rather  to  assist  and 
guide  their  minds  in  the  work  of  constructing  the  same  ideas 
that  were  in  his  own.  In  carrying  their  minds  through  this 
process,  he  must  give  them,  not  merely  the  idea  which  had 
been  the  result  of  his  own  thinking,  but  its  elements,  their 
proportions,  their  limitations,  their  bearings  on  the  results. 
In  this  process,  clauses  of  definition,  of  discrimination,  of 
limitation,  were  often  as  necessary  as  those  of  a  contrary 
character.  Any  element  of  thought  which  contributed  to  the 
result  only  in  some  qualified  sense,  must  be  mentioned  with 
the  proper  qualification,  lest  there  should  remain  a  doubt 
whether  it  ought  to  be  mentioned  at  all.  It  is  in  this  respect 
that  his  long  sentences  seem  to  me  to  differ,  characteristically, 
from  the  long  sentences  of  other  orators,  which  are  merely 
cumulative.  The  practical  effect  was,  that  the  hearer  found 
himself  not  merely  overwhelmed  by  the  multitude  of  grand 
things  that  had  been  said,  but  also  led,  by  a  safe  logical  pro- 
cess, to  the  desired  conclusion. 

"  How  else  can  we  account  for  the  effect  which  his  long 
sentences  certainly  did  produce  on  even  common  minds  \ 
Could  such  minds,  after  hearing  one  of  them,  recollect  and 
appreciate  all  the  particulars  contained  in  it  \  But  few,  even 
of  educated  men,  who  7'ead  tliem,  can  do  that.  The  effect  is 
produced  by  the  logic  which  runs  through  them  and  does  its 
work  during  the  progress  of  the  sentence,  so  that  when  the 
sentence  is  ended  the  conclusion  is  reached. 

"  A  remarkable  example  of  such  long  sentences  as  I  have 
tried  to  describe,  is  found  in  Mr.  Choate's  remarks  at  the 
meeting  of  the  Suffolk  Bar  on  the  death  of  Mr.  Webster.  I 
have  often  thought  that  studying  that  address,  so  as  thoroughly 
to  master  it,  (and  the  same  may  be  said  of  his  Eulogy  on  Mr. 
Webster,  and  other  elaborate  performances,)  would  be  a  good 
exercise  for  a  theological  student,  about  to  enter  on  the  study 
of  Paul's   epistles,  where   he  will  find  many  long  sentences 


goo  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

which  seem  to  be  made  long  on  the  same  principle,  and  as  a 
result  of  the  same  logical  instincts.  Paul's  parentheses,  like 
those  of  Choate,  are  put  in,  that  the  reader,  when  he  arrives 
at  the  end  of  a  sentence,  may  have  constructed  in  his  own 
mind  exactly  the  right  idea,  with  all  the  limitations,  qualifica- 
tions, and  appurtenances  which  are  essential  to  its  identity  and 
completeness." 

Mr.  Choate's  memory  was  exact  and  tenacious.  He  could 
generally  repeat  considerable  portions  of  what  he  had  recently 
read  ;  was  always  ready  with  an  apt  quotation,  and  able  to 
correct  those  who  made  a  wrong  one.  An  interesting  illus- 
tration of  this  occurred  during  the  trial  of  William  Wyman, 
in  184<3,  for  embezzling  the  funds  of  the  Phoenix  Bank.  An 
array  of  counsel  was  assembled  such  as  is  rarely  seen,  and  the 
court-house  was  crowded  with  intensely  interested  spectators. 
"  In  the  course  of  the  trial,  and  in  a  most  exciting  passage, 
when  all  the  counsel  appeared  to  be  intent  upon  the  case  and 
nothing  else,  Mr.  Webster  wrote  on  a  slip  of  paper  a  favor- 
ite couplet  of  Pope,  and  passed  it  to  Mr.  Choate, 

'  Lo  where  Mieotis  sleeps,  and  softly  flows 
The  freezing  Tanals  through  a  waste  of  snows.' 

Mr.  Choate  wrote  at  the  bottom  '  wrong,' 

'  Lo  where  Maeotis  sleeps,  and  hardly  flows 
The  freezing  Tanais  through  a  waste  of  snows.' 

Mr.  Webster  rejoined,  '  right,'  and  offered  a  wager.  A  mes- 
senger was  despatched  for  Pope,  when  it  appeared  that  Mr. 
Choate  was  right.  Mr.  Webster  gravely  wrote  on  the  copy 
of  Pope,  '  spurious  edition,'  and  the  subject  was  dropped. 
All  this  while  the  spectators  were  in  the  full  belief  that  the 
learned  counsel  were  in  earnest  consultation  on  some  difficult 
point  of  law."' 

One  will  not  unfrequently  notice  in  Mr.  Choate's  speeches 
and  writings,  as  they  might  have  in  his  conversation,  fragmen- 
tary quotations,  —  half-lines  of  poetry,  —  a  single  catchword 
of  a  wise  maxim,  —  a  partially  translated  proverb,  —  which 
harmonized  with  his  thought,  but  which  to  those  familiar  with 
them  were  suggestive  of  much  more  than  was  said.  An 
instance  of  his  readiness  in  felicitous  quotation  is  given  by  Mr. 

1  Law  Reporter,  January,  1844. 


Chap.  XL]  "  YOUNG   AMERICA."  301 

Parker  in  his  '•'  Reminiscences,"  which  I  am  permitted  to 
extract. 

"  In  the  winter  of  1850,  a  large  party  was  given  in  Wash- 
ington, and  many  illustrious  personages  were  present,  who 
have  since,  like  Mr.  Choate,  gone  down  to  the  grave  amid  the 
tears  of  their  countrymen.  The  Senate,  at  that  time  worthy 
of  the  name,  was  well  represented  on  this  occasion  of  fes- 
tivity, and  the  play  and  airy  vivacity  of  the  conversation,  with 
'  the  cups  which  cheer  hut  not  inebriate,'  relaxed  at  intervals 
even  senatorial  dignity.  During  the  evening  the  subject  of 
'Young  America'  was  introduced, — his  waywardness,  his 
extravagance,  his  ignorance,  and  presumption.  Mr.  Webster 
observed,  that  he  hoped  the  youth  would  soon  come  to  his 
senses,  and  atone,  by  the  correctness  of  his  deportment,  for 
his  juvenile  dissipation.  At  the  same  time,  he  added,  that,  in 
his  opinion,  the  only  efficient  remedy  for  the  vice  and  folly  of 
the  lad  would  be  found  in  early  religious  training,  and  stricter 
parental  restraint.  Mr.  Choate  declared,  that  he  did  not  view 
the  hair-brained  youth  in  the  same  light  with  his  illustrious 
friend ;  that  every  age  and  every  country  had,  if  not  their 
'  Young  America,'  at  least  something  worse.  The  character 
of  Trajan,  the  best  and  purest  of  Roman  emperors,  said  he, 
was  unable,  with  all  its  virtue  and  splendor,  to  check  the 
'Young  Italy'  of  that  day.  Our  lads  would  seem  to  have 
sat  for  the  picture  which  has  been  drawn  of  the  Roman 
youths,  by  the  hand  of  one  who  seldom  colored  too  highly. 
'■  Statim  sapiunt^  statim  sciunt  omnia;  nemmem  verentur, 
imitantur  nemine^n^  atque  ipsi  sihi  exempla  sunt,'  which, 
translated,  reads  thus,  '  From  their  cradles  they  know  all 
things,  —  they  understand  all  things,  —  they  have  no  regard 
for  any  person  whatever,  high  or  low,  rich  or  poor,  religious 
or  otherwise,  —  and  are  themselves  the  only  examples  which 
they  are  disposed  to  folio ^v.'  Mr.  Benton  thought  the  quota- 
tion too  happy  to  be  genuine,  and  demanded  the  author.  Mr. 
Choate,  with  the  utmost  good  humor,  replied,  that  his  legal 
habits  had  taught  him  the  importance  of  citing  no  case  witJi- 
out  being  able  to  give  his  authorities;  he  called  for  the  younger 
Pliny,  and  triumphantly  showed  the  passage,  amid  the  admi- 
ration of   that   brilliant  assembly,  in   the   23rd  letter  of   the 

VOL.  I.  26 


302  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS  CHOATE.  [Chap.  XI. 

8th  book.  Our  informant  remarks,  that  the  history  of  htera- 
ture,  perhaps,  cannot  show  an  equally  felicitous  quotation." 

His  fondness  for  books  was  a  striking  characteristic.  The 
heart  of  his  home  was  his  library.  Hither  he  retreated 
from  the  distractions  of  business,  and  the  disappointments  of 
politics,  to  discourse  with  the  great  spirits  of  other  times; 
yielding  with  unfailing  delight  to  the  lofty  stimulus  of  great 
minds,  and  communing  with  them  as  with  friends.  He 
reposed  among  his  books.  He  bought  them  freely,  generally 
for  use,  though  in  some  departments,  and  with  some  favorite 
authors,  he  allowed  free  scope  to  his  tastes,  and  adorned  his 
shelves  with  choice  editions.  In  a  city  he  gravitated  toward 
a  book-store  or  a  public  library,  as  if  by  a  fixed  and  unvary- 
ing law  of  nature.  During  the  earlier  years  of  his  residence 
in  Boston,  when  professional  occupation  allowed  him  leisure, 
he  was  often  found  in  Burnham's  Antiquarian  Book-store,  por- 
ing over  the  heterogeneous  treasures  of  that  immense  deposi- 
tory. 

Shortly  after  his  death  there  appeared  in  the  "  New  York 
Times "  a  communication  from  a  vk'ell-known  dealer  in  old 
books,  which  merits  preservation,  as  a  simple,  unvarnished 
statement  of  the  truth. 

"RUFUS  CHOATE'S  LOVE  FOR  BOOKS. 

"  The  death  of  this  illustrious  man  brings  to  my  mind  cer- 
tain reminiscences  of  him,  which  I  think  worthy  of  keeping 
in  remembrance. 

"  About  ten  years  ago,  when  on  a  visit,  or  passing  through 
this  city,  Mr.  Choate  called  at  my  store,  about  ten  o'clock 
A.  M.,  and  introduced  himself  as  a  lover  of  books  and  an 
occasional  buyer,  and  then  desired  to  be  shown  where  the 
Metaphysics,  and  the  Greek  and  Roman  Classics,  stood.  He 
immediately  commenced  his  researches,  with  great  apparent 
eagerness;  nor  did  he  quit  his  toil  till  he  was  compelled  to 
do  so  by  the  store  being  shut  up,  thus  having  been  over  nine 
hours  on  a  stretch,  without  food  or  drink.  He  remarked 
that  'he  had  quite  exhausted  himself,  mentally  as  well  as 
bodily.'  He  had  been  greatly  interested,  as  well  as  excited, 
at  what  he  had  seen ;  '  for,'  continued  he,  '  I  have  discovered 


Chap.  XL]  '        HIS   LOVE   FOR   BOOKS.  303 

many  books  that  I  have  never  seen  before,  and  seen  those 
that  I  had  never  heard  of;  but,  above  all,  I  have  been  more 
than  overjoyed  at  discovering,  in  your  collection,  a  copy  of 
the  Greek  bishop's^  famous  commentary  on  the  writings  of 
Homer,  in  seven  volumes,  quarto,  a  work  that  I  have  long 
had  an  intense  desire  to  possess.'  He  afterwards  purchased 
the  precious  volumes.  I  had  the  seven  volumes  bound  in 
three,  in  handsome  and  appropriate  style.  These  works  no 
doubt  still  grace  his  library.  W.   G." 

To  the  last  he  was  studious  of  letters,  full  of  sympathy 
with  literary  men  and  their  works,  and  especially  fond  of  the 
classics,  and  of  imaginative  literature.  During  the  most 
busy  period  of  his  professional  labor  he  managed  to  secure 
at  least  an  hour  every  day  —  rescued  from  sleep,  or  society, 
or  recreation  —  for  Greek  or  Latin,  or  some  other  favorite 
study.  He  sometimes,  at  the  commencement  of  a  college 
term,  would  mark  out  his  course  of  study  by  the  curriculum 
as  laid  down  in  the  catalogue,  and  thus  keep  on  pari  passu 
with  one  or  two  of  the  classes.  He  was  indifferent  to  or- 
dinary amusements,  had  no  love  for  horses,  or  field  sports  ; 
and  seemed  hardly  to  desire  any  other  rest  than  that  which 
catne  from  a  change  of  intellectual  action.  In  the  later  years 
of  his  life  he  undertook  the  study  of  German  with  one  of  his 
daughters,  learning  the  grammar  during  his  morning  walks, 
and  reciting  at  table. 

If  the  question  were  asked,  to  what  pursuits  Mr.  Choate's 
tastes,  unobstructed,  would  have  led  him,  I  am  inclined  to 
think  the  answer  would  be  —  to  letters  rather  than  to  the 
law.     Books  were  his  passion.      His  heart  was  in 

"  The  world  of  thought,  the  world  of  dream," 

with  philosophers,  historians,  and  poets ;  and  had  his  for- 
tune allowed,  he  would  have  endeavored  to  take  rank  with 
them,  —  to  illustrate,  perhaps,  some  great  period  of  history 
with  a  work  worthy  of  the  best  learning  and  the  widest  cul- 

1  Eustathius   (Archbishop   of  Thes-  same  language  as  the  Iliad.     His  com- 

salonica)  was  born  in  the  twelfth  cen-  mentaries  were  first  printed  at  Rome, 

tury  at  Constantinople.     He  was  the  1550,  in   two   volumes  folio.     Besides 

author  of  the  well-known  voluminous  these  commentaries,  he  was  the  author 

commentary  on  Homer,  written  in  the  of  sevei-al  other  critical  works. 


got  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

ture;  or  to  unfold  the  sound  and  deep  principles  of  a  true 
political  philosophy.  He  mio-ht  not,  indeed,  have  avoided, 
but  rather  have  sought,  public  life  ;  for  he  felt  its  fascina- 
tions, and  fairly  estimated  its  grand  opportunities.  His  am- 
bition might  have  been  to  move  in  the  sphere  of  Burke  (of 
whom  he  sometimes  reminds  one)  or  Macaulay,  rather  than 
that  of  Erskine  or  Eldon.  Hence,  though  bringing  to  the 
Law  marvellous  aptitude,  wonderful  diligence,  and  entire  self- 
devotion,  sacrificing,  as  some  thought,  in  the  sharp  contests 
of  the  bar,  powers  which  might  better  have  graced  another 
and  higher  sphere,  —  he  was  never  a  mere  lawyer.  And 
yet  so  absorbed  was  he  in  his  profession,  —  it  was  a  neces- 
sity, and  at  least  a  second  love,  —  that  with  the  exception  of 
a  few  columns  in  the  newspapers,  a  brief  article  in  the  "North 
American  Review,"  a  few  speeches  and  orations,  I  know  not 
that  he  fully  prepared  anything  for  the  press. 

He  cared  nothing  for  money;  little,  too  little,  perhaps, 
for  society,  beyond  his  own  immediate  friends ;  and  less  than 
any  able  and  brilhant  man  I  ever  knew,  or  almost  ever  heard 
of,  for  fame ;  but  study,  books,  intellectual  labor  and  achieve- 
ments, poetry,  truth  —  these  were  controlling  elements  of  his 
life.  However  prostrated  or  worn,  a  new  intellectual  stimulus 
would  raise  him  in  an  instant.  ''  One  day,"  says  a  former 
student  of  his,^  "  he  came  into  the  office  tired  and  sick  ;  the 
great  lines  of  his  face  yellow  and  deep ;  his  eyes  full  of  a 
blaze  of  light,  yet  heavy  and  drooping.  Throwing  himself 
exhausted  on  the  sofa,  he  exclaimed,  'The  law — to  be  a 
good  lawyer  is  no  more  than  to  be  a  good  carpenter.  It 
is  knack,  —  simply  running  a  machine.'  Soon  after  a  man 
came  in  with  a  splendid  edition  of  Sir  William  Hamilton's 
'  Reid,'  fresh  from  London.  He  was  changed  in  a  moment. 
Springing  from  the  sofa,  he  glanced  admiringly  over  the 
philosophy,  saying,  '  Here's  food  ;  now  I  will  go  home  and 
feast.  There's  true  poetry  in  these  metaphysicians.'  And 
so  he  went  off"  to  refresh  himself  with  that  light  reading." 

The  following  recollections  of  Mr.  Choate  are  from  a  gen- 
tleman who  saw  him  frequently  and  familiarly  :  — 

"Deau  Sir,  —  The  principal  reason  for  my  neglect  to  send 
you  any  reminiscences  of  Mr.  Choate  is,  that  when  I  have 
I  Rev.  J.  M.  Marsters,  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  many  interesting  particulars. 


Chap.  XL]  HIS   CONVERSATION.  305 

tried  to  put  them  into  shape,  they  have  seemed  too  meagre 
and  insignificant  to  be  worth  your  notice.  Indeed,  I  think 
that  the  recollections  of  his  daily  life,  retained  by  any  one 
who  saw  him  familiarly  '  in  his  habit  as  he  lived,'  are  ex- 
tremely difficult  of  development  in  words.  Everything  which 
he  said  produced  an  impression  on  the  hearer  ;  but  an  attempt 
to  repeat  the  saying,  and  reproduce  the  impression  on  one  who 
did  not  know  him,  results  in  failure.  The  flavor  is  gone. 
It  proceeded  from  the  time,  the  occasion,  the  manner,  the 
tone,  the  personal  magnetism  of  the  man.  There  were  some 
subjects  on  which  Mr.  Choate  always  liked  to  talk,  —  about 
his  contemporaries,  or  on  his  favorite  classics,  or  to  young 
men  about  their  studies,  or  the  best  preparation  for  practical 
success,  or  the  true  ends  and  aims  of  life,  and  the  ways  and 
means  of  civil  and  professional  activity  and  usefulness. 

"  I  used,  when  I  knew  Mr.  Choate  to  be  at  leisure  and 
alone,  to  stroll  from  my  room  into  his,  and  start  some  topic. 
He  would  at  once  enter  into  it  with  all  interest,  and  as  if  that 
were  the  very  subject  he  had  been  studying  most  carefully 
and  recently.  You  may  imagine,  I  was  always  inclined  to 
hear  rather  than  to  be  heard.  Still,  his  remarks  were  always 
suggestive  of  answers;  and  it  w^as  easier  to  talk  with  him  — 
really  to  converse,  not  merely  to  listen  —  than  with  any  man 
of  note  whom  it  has  been  my  fortune  to  meet.  He  did  not 
lecture  nor  preach.  Frequently  he  drew  out  the  knowledge 
or  opinions  of  the  person  conversing  with  him,  —  whether 
young  or  old,  learned  or  otherwise, — by  direct  questions; 
and  in  such  cases  he  ahvays  seemed  to  be  actually  seeking 
information,  —  not  attempting  to  find  out,  like  a  tutor  at  a 
recitation,  how  much  the  catechised  individual  knew,  I  al- 
ways felt,  after  spending  ten  minutes  with  him,  as  if  I  had 
been  not  only  stocked  with  fresh  stores,  but  developed,  — 
quite  as  much  educated  as  instructed.  Then,  what  he  said 
was  so  stimulant  and  encouraging.  One  always  went  away, 
not  depressed  by  the  sense  of  his  own  inferiority,  but  deter- 
mined to  know  more  about  what  he  had  been  talking  of,  and 
confident  that  he  had  been  put  in  the  right  way  to  learn  more. 

"  Nothing  pleased  his  young  friends  so  much  as  the  def- 
erence with  which  he  received  what  they  had  to  say.  I  re- 
member his  once  asking  what  I  thought  of  a  point  which  he 

26* 


306  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XI. 

was  about  to  arg-ue  to  the  Bench,  and  about  which  I  had 
very  imperfect  ideas.  I  made  some  sort  of  vague  reply ; 
but  was  agreeably  surprised,  shortly  afterwards,  by  hearing" 
my  exact  words  introduced  to  the  full  Court  in  an  abundance 
of  good  company,  and  in  a  connection  which  gave  them  some 
sionificance.  The  junior  associate  in  a  case  could  not  whis- 
per to  him  in  the  middle  of  an  argument  without  his  saying 
to  judge  or  jury,  '  My  learned  brother  has  just  suggested 
to  me,'  —  and  the  suggestion,  or  something  like  it,  would 
come  forth,  freed  from  error  and  crudity,  illustrated  and 
made  telling. 

"  His  serious  conversation  was  always  exact  and  terse  in 
expression,  and  he  disliked  any  looseness  in  that  respect  in 
others.  He  asked  me  once  what  the  judge  had  charged  the 
jury  in  a  certain  case.  I  answered  — '  That  they  must  find 
the  fact  thus  and  so,'  —  meaning  that  they  were  charged, 
unless  they  found  it  so,  not  to  bring  in  a  verdict  for  the 
plaintiff.  He  replied  very  quickly,  '  I  suppose  he  told  them 
to  find  it  as  it  was  realhj^  didn't  he  1 '  In  grammar  and  pro- 
nunciation he  was  precise  even  in  his  peculiarities ;  and  any 
error  he  would  reprove  by  introducing  the  same  into  his  next 
sentence  with  —  'as  you  call  it.' 

"  Mr.  Choate's  playful  conversation  it  seems  impossible  to 
put  into  a  book,  and  retain  the  sparkle.  And  yet  his  quaint- 
ness  was  perhaps  his  most  distinguishing  characteristic  to  those 
with  whom  he  was  intimate.  They  remember  him  asking 
after  his  only  grand-daughter  with,  'How  is  the  boy]' — or  ♦ 
coming  into  a  room  with  a  question  or  a  remark  wholly  in- 
congruous with  the  time  and  the  surroundings ;  —  or  inter- 
spersing the  business  of  a  trial  with  all  sorts  of  ludicrous 
remark  and  by-play,  audible  and  visible  only  to  those  just 
around  him  in  the  bar ;  —  or  speaking  of  a  husband,  from 
whom  he  had  just  obtained  a  settlement  for  his  client,  an  in- 
jured  but  not  very  amiable  wife,   as  a  sinner,   and   adding, 

'Mrs. is   a  sinner,  too,'  —  then  immediately  correcting 

himself  with,  '  No,  Sir,  she  is  not  a  sinner,  for  she  is  our 
client,  but  she  is  certainly  a  very  disagreeable  saint;' — or 
ingeniously  harassing  a  nervous  legal  opponent,  in  private 
consultation  upon  a  compromise,  until  he  rushed  from  the 
room  in  distraction,  and   then   quietly  finishing   the   sentence 


Chap.  XL]  HIS    SCHOLARSHIP.  307 

to  the  nervous  g"ent]eman's  associate,  as  if  it  had  been  orig- 
inally addressed  to  him,  and  his  friend's  departure  had  not 
been  noticed; — or,  when  afflicted  with  the  disorder  of  sight 
w'hich  produces  a  wavy  illusion  before  the  eyes,  suddenly  stop- 
ping a  friend  in  the  street,  and  astounding  him  with  the  state- 
ment, '  Mr.  H.,  you  look  like  two  great  snakes ! '  All  these 
things,  amusing  and  puzzling  when  seen  as  well  as  heard,  are 
flat  and  stale  in  the  mere  relation. 

"  1  have  mentioned  how  much  Mr.  Choate  liked  to  talk 
upon  the  classics.  His  reputation  as  a  classical  scholar  was, 
as  you  know,  very  high,  and  I  think  deservedly  so.  He  had 
all  the  qualifications,  except  time,  for  fine  scholarship  in  this 
department,  —  an  ardent  love  of  the  subject,  a  fondness  for 
the  general  study  of  language,  a  vast  and  accurate  memory, 
and  great  assiduity  and  minuteness  in  investigation.  You 
know  how  rich  his  library  was  in  classical  works ;  and  I 
always  used  to  see  upon  his  office-table  the  German  periodical 
catalogues  of  new  editions  and  philological  publications.  1  do 
not  suppose  that  he  equalled  the  linguists  of  the  universities 
in  thoroughness  and  precision  of  learning.  This  was  not 
compatible  with  the  variety  and  pressure  of  his  other  pursuits. 
But  during  the  few  minutes  which  he  daily  bestowed  upon 
Latin  and  Greek,  he  studied  rather  than  read,  spending  the 
time  upon  one  sentence,  not  upon  several  pages.  With  half 
a  dozen  editions  of  his  author  open  before  him,  and  all  the 
standard  lexicons  and  grammars  at  hand,  he  referred  to  each 
in  turn,  and  compared  and  digested  their  various  authority 
and  oj)inion.  I  imagine  he  always  translated  (not  contenting 
himself  with  the  idea  in  its  original  dress,)  for  the  sake  of 
greater  precision  of  conception,  and  also  of  practice  in 
idiomatic  English.  You  will  notice  in  his  written  transla- 
tions how  he  strives  to  find  a  phrase  which  will  sound  as 
familiar  to  an  English  ear,  as  the  original  to  that  of  a  Greek 
or  Roman.  When  he  uses  an  ancient  idiom,  in  translation  or 
original  composition,  it  seems  intentional,  and  as  if  he  thought 
it  would  bear  transplanting. 

"  In  his  scholarship,  as  in  other  things,  he  was  anxious  to 
be  accurate,  and  spared  no  pains  in  investigating  a  disputed 
point.  In  this,  as  in  law,  the  merest  novice  could  put  him 
upon  inquiry,  by  doubting  his  opinion.     He  was  not  positive 


308  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  Xf. 

at  the  outset,  but  set  himself  to  studying  at  once ;  and  when 
he  had  finally  reviewed  his  position  no  one  could  stir  him  from 
his  final  conclusion.  I  remember  once  showing-  him  a  new 
Quintilian  which  I  had  bought.  He  opened  it,  and  began 
translating  aloud.  Disagreeing  with  his  translation  of  some 
technical  word,  I  called  his  attention  to  it.  He  heard  what  I 
had  to  say,  and  said  little  in  return.  The  next  day  he  came 
armed  with  authorities,  and  challenged  me  to  support  my 
position.  I  found  some  authorities  on  my  side ;  but  I  think 
he  did  not  let  me  rest  for  weeks,  nor  until  we  had  between  us 
brought  everything  in  the  books  to  bear  upon  the  question. 
The  result  was,  that  I  was  convinced  he  was  right  at  first. 

"  Nothing  pleased  him  more  than  to  bring  his  classics  to 
bear  upon  his  daily  pursuits.  He  quoted  Latin  and  Greek  to 
juries,  sometimes  much  to  their  astonishment.  He  wished  to 
be  such  a  legal  orator  as  Demosthenes  and  Cicero.  He  used 
to  say  that  if  he  desired  to  form  a  nisi-priiis  lawyer,  he 
should  make  him,  above  all,  study  Quintilian.  He  delighted 
in  Thucydides  as  illustrating  the  great  question  of  confeder- 
ation or  disunion  between  small  republics.  These  authors,  and 
Homer  and  Horace  for  relaxation,  and  Tacitus  for  comparison 
with  Thucydides  as  a  philosophical  historian,  were  his  favorite 
and  principal  classical  reading. 

"  Greek  history  was  a  constant  study  with  him.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  at  one  time  he  meditated  a  work  upon  it,  and 
sketched  some  plans  and  collected  some  materials.  He  was 
always  enthusiastic  upon  this  subject.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  animation  with  which,  finding  his  son,  Rufus,  and  myself 
reading  the  part  of  Herodotus  preceding  the  first  Persian  war, 
he  broke  out  with,  '  You  are  just  seeing  the  curtain  rising  on 
the  great  drama.' 

"  Mr.  Choate's  activity  was,  as  you  know,  perfectly  restless. 
He  could  not  endure  anything  that  seemed  like  trifling  with 
time.  Formal  dinner  parties,  unless  they  were  also  feasts  of 
reason,  he  studiously  eschewed.  The  mere  conventionalities 
of  society  bored  him. 

"  Unceasing  as  was  his  labor,  he  was,  nevertheless,  a  great 
procrastinator.  He  could  not  prepare  his  cases  for  trial  weeks 
and  months  in  advance,  as  is  the  habit  of  some  of  our  lawyers. 
He  said  to  me  once,  '  I  cannot  get  up  the  interest  until  the 


Chap.  XI.]  FONDNESS   OF  MUSIC.  309 

struggle  is  close  at  hand,  then  I  think  of  nothing  else  till  it 
is  over.'  He  has  sometimes  been  known  not  to  have  put  a 
word  of  an  oration  on  paper,  at  a  time  when  the  day  of  deliv- 
ery was  so  near  that  an  ordinary  man  would  have  thought  the 
interval  even  too  short  for  mere  revision  and  correction.  But 
he  was  seldom  caught  actually  unprepared.  The  activity  of 
the  short  period  of  preparation  was  intense ;  and  as  at  some 
time  or  other  in  his  life  he  had  studied  almost  everything,  and 
as  he  never  forgot  anything  that  he  once  knew,  his  amount 
and  range  of  acquisition  gave  him  a  reserved  force  for  every 
eniergency,  which  could  be  brought  into  instant  use.  More- 
over, his  grasp  of  a  subject  was  so  immediate,  that  he  did  as 
much  in  a  moment  as  another  could  in  a  day.  He  would 
sometimes  be  retained  in  a  cause  just  going  to  trial,  and 
before  his  junior  had  finished  his  opening,  Mr.  Choate  would 
seem  to  know  more  about  that  case  than  any  other  man  in  the 
court-room.  His  mental  rapidity  showed  itself  in  everything. 
It  was  wonderful  to  see  him  run  through  the  leaves  of  a  series 
of  digests,  and  strike  at  a  glance  upon  what  would  most 
strongly  avail  him,  and  reject  the  weak  or  irrelevant.  So 
in  all  his  reading  he  distilled  the  spirit  (if  there  was  any} 
instantly  from  any  dilution." 

Mr.  Choate's  life  at  home  was  the  most  hearty,  cheerful, 
and  affectionate  that  could  be  imagined.  He  was  kind,  famil- 
iar, and  playful  with  his  children,  full  of  jocoseness,  sensitive, 
and  with  a  feminine  susceptibility  and  tact.  When  his  daugh- 
ters, from  out  of  town,  came  into  the  house,  if  he  were  in  his 
library,  unless  they  came  to  see  him  at  once,  he  would  gener- 
ally walk  to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  call  their  attention  for 
a  moment  to  himself,  by  uttering  some  jocose  remark,  or  a 
familiar  quotation,  a  little  changed  to  suit  his  purpose,  such 
as,  "  Did  Ossian  hear  a  voice  ?  "  then,  after  exchanging  a  few 
words,  would  retreat  to  his  work.  He  was  very  fond  of 
music,  especially  sacred  music.  Every  Sunday  evening,  after 
tea,  he  would  gather  his  children  around  the  piano,  and  occa- 
sionally joining,  have  them  sing  to  him  the  old  psahn-tunes 
and  chants.  In  his  last  illness,  when  at  Dorchester,  his  chil- 
dren would  sing  to  him  almost  every  night.  It  was  not 
thought  of  till  he  had  been  there  for  a  week  or  two,  but  one 


310  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

evening  they  all  sang-  at  his  request,  and  he  slept  much  better 
after  it  than  he  had  done  for  a  long-  time.  Every  night  after 
that  the  concert  was  repeated.  He  loved  martial,  stirring 
music,  too.  The  "  Marseillaise,"  and  "  God  save  the  Em- 
peror," and  all  national  airs,  were  favorites.  A  Turkish 
march  (so  called)  always  pleased  him,  because,  under  its  little 
spell,  he  saw  "  The  Turkish  moons  wandering  in  disarray." 
It  always  troubled  him  that  there  was  no  Italian  national  air. 
His  imagination  gave  life  to  whatever  he  read,  and  he  instinct- 
ively realized  the  pictures  of  poets  and  the  narratives  of  his- 
torians. Reading  Campbell's  "  Battle  of  the  Baltic,"  he 
remarked  on  the  line, 

"  It  was  ten  of  April  morn  by  the  chime," 

how  vividly  it  brought  to  one's  mind  the  peaceful,  calm  prox- 
imity of  the  city,  —  the  water's  unruffled  surface,  —  the  piers 
crowded  with  anxious  faces  to  witness  the  great  sea-fight,  as 
the  sound  of  the  bells  of  Copenhagen  came  over  the  waters. 

One  of  his  daughters  said  to  him  that  "  The  Soldier's 
Dream "  was  a  sad  thing  to  her,  owing  to  the  uncertainty 
whether  the  dream  was  ever  realized.  He  said  his  under- 
standing of  it  was,  that  "  Thrice  ere  the  morning  I  dreamt  it 
again  "  signified  that  it  came  to  pass,  referring  in  proof  to 
some  popular  belief  in  a  dream  thrice  dreamed  before  morn- 


ing- commgf  true. 


He  often  read  aloud  passages  from  the  newspapers  which 
interested  him,  interspersing  them  with  remarks  or  familiar 
quotations.  At  the  time  of  Louis  Philippe's  flight,  he  read 
the  account  at  table,  uttering  after  every  few  sentences,  as  if 
it  were  in  the  paper,  "  What  shadows  we  are  and  what 
shadows  we  pursue!"  So,  after  the  death  of  Nicholas  he  read 
it  aloud,  adding  in  the  same  tone  a  verse  of  the  Psalms :  "  I 
have  said  ye  are  gods,  but  ye  shall  die  like  men  and  perish 
like  one  of  the  princes." 

He  had  more  than  a  feminine  sensitiveness  to  physical  suf- 
fering. From  this,  some  presumed  to  doubt  his  courage, 
though  I  know  not  with  what  reason.  His  moral  courage 
certairdy  could  not  be  questioned.  He  was  bold  enough  for 
his  clients,  and  his  independence  in  forming  and  maintaining 
his  political  creed  was  thought  by  some  of  his  friends  to  be 
carried  even  to  an  extreme. 


Chap.  XL]  GENTLENESS.  31 1 

It  seemed  as  if  nobody  was  ever  so  gentle  and  sweet- 
hearted  and  tender  of  others  as  he.  And  wlien  we  consider 
the  constant  provocations  of  his  profession,  —  his  natural 
excitability, — the  ardor  with  which  he  threw  himself  into  a 
case,  —  the  vigor  and  tenacity  of  purpose  with  which  he 
fought  his  battles,  —  as  well  as  his  extreme  sensitiveness  to 
sharp  and  unkind  words,  —  it  seems  little  less  than  a  miracle. 
"  He  lavished  his  good  nature,"  it  was  truly  said,  "  upon  all 
around  him,  —  in  the  court  and  the  office,  —  upon  students, 
witnesses,  servants,  strangers."  He  was  so  reluctant  to  inflict 
pain  that  he  would  long  endure  an  annoyance,  —  as  of  a 
troublesome  and  pertinacious  visitor,  —  or  put  himself  to  con- 
siderable inconvenience  in  escaping  from  it,  rather  than  to 
wound  the  feelings  of  another  by  a  suggestion. 

Though  sometime  ruffled,  he 

"  Carried  anger  as  the  flint  bears  fire, 
Which,  much  enforced,  shows  a  hasty  spark, 
And  straight  is  cold  again." 

He  never  spoke  ill  of  the  absent,  nor  would  suffer  others  to  do 
so  in  his  presence.  He  was  affectionate,  obliging,  desirous  to 
make  every  one  about  him  happy,  —  with  strong  sympathy 
for  any  one  in  trouble.  Hence  it  was  almost  impossible  for 
him  to  refuse  a  client  in  distress  who  strongly  desired  his 
aid. 

Dr.  Adams,  in  his  Funeral  Address,  tells  a  characteristic 
little  anecdote.  "  He  had  not  walked  far,  one  morning  a  few 
years  ago,  he  said,  and  gave  as  a  reason,  that  his  attention 
was  taken  by  a  company  of  those  large  creeping  things  which 
lie  on  their  backs  in  the  paths  as  soon  as  the  light  strikes  them. 
'  But  of  what  use  was  it  for  you  to  help  them  over  with  your 
cane,  knowing  that  they  would  become  supine  again  V  —  'I 
gave  them  a  fair  start  in  life,'  he  said,  '  and  my  responsibility 
was  at  an  end.'  He  probably  helped  to  place  more  people  on 
their  feet  than  otherwise ;  and  no  one  has  enjoyed  it  more 
than  he." 

Though  friendly  with  all,  he  had  few  or  no  intimates.  He  did 
not,  as  has  been  said,  permit  himself  to  indulge  freely  in  what 
is  called  "  society,"  finding  the  draught  too  much  upon  his 
leisure  and  his  strength  ;  yet  few  received  or  conferred  more 
pleasure  in  the  unrestrained  freedom  of  conversation. 


S12  MEMOIR   OF   RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

"  Mr.  Choate's  conversational  power,"  says  Mr.  Justice 
Chapman,  "was  scarcely  less  remarkable  than  his  forensic 
power.  It  was  by  no  means  limited  to  the  subject  of  oratory. 
Indeed,  so  far  as  my  acquaintance  with  him  is  concerned,  he 
never  made  that  a  prominent  topic  of  conversation  ;  but  I 
recollect  one  of  his  conversations  on  eloquence.  He  was  talk- 
ing of  Burke's  speeches,  of  which  he  was  known  to  be  a 
great  admirer,  and  remarked  to  a  friend  of  mine  who  was 
extolling  Burke  above  all  other  men,  that  he  thought  on  the 
whole  that  the  most  eloquent  and  mellifluous  talk  that  was 
ever  put  together  in  the  English  language  was  the  speech  of 
Mr.  Standftist  in  the  river.  I  went  home  and  read  the  speech 
soon  afterwards,  and  I  confess  I  appreciated  John  Bunyan's 
eloquence  as  I  never  had  done  before. 

"  But  it  never  occurred  to  me  that  Mr.  Choate  had  any 
conversational  hobby  of  any  kind.  He  was  interested  in  all 
current  topics,  —  political,  social,  moral,  or  religious,  —  and 
there  seemed  to  be  nothing  in  literature,  history,  philosophy, 
or  jurisprudence,  that  he  did  not  know;  and  in  his  private 
conversation  I  always  thought  he  was  very  frank.  When  I 
called  on  him,  whether  alone  or  with  a  friend,  I  generally 
found  him  standing  at  his  desk,  pen  in  hand.  The  moment 
he  left  it,  he  turned  with  freshness  to  whatever  topic  came  up ; 
generally  throwing  himself  upon  his  lounge,  and  entering  into 
general  conversation,  or  the  details  of  a  new  case,  as  if  it 
were  a  recreation.  He  was  remarkably  original  and  brilliant 
in  his  badinage ;  and  I  have  thought  he  was  rather  fond  of 
saying  in  playfulness  what  he  would  not  have  said  seriously, 
and  what  it  would  be  unjust  towards  him  to  repeat,  —  though 
he  never  transcended  the  limits  of  delicacy  and  good  taste. 
On  a  few  occasions  his  conversation  turned  on  religious  faith 
and  doctrines.  I  have  never  met  with  a  .layman  whom  I 
thought  to  be  more  familiar  with  theological  science  than  he. 
I  am  sure  he  understood  the  points  on  which  the  debates  of 
the  j)resent  day  turn,  and  the  arguments  by  which  controverted 
doctrines  are  supported.  I  think  he  was  a  thorough  believer 
in  the  doctrines  preached  by  his  pastor.  Rev.  Dr.  Adams.  He 
was  an  admirer  of  Edwards,  and  on  one  occasion  he  spoke 
familiarly  of  his  'History  of  Redemption '  and  his  'Treatise  on 
the  Will.'     He  had  at  his  tong-ue's  end  a  refutation  of  Panthe- 


Chap.  XL]  HIS  HANDWRITING.  313 

ism,  and  talked  freely  of  its  logical  and  moral  bearings.  Yet, 
while  he  seemed  to  be  master  of  all  the  subtleties  of  polemic 
debates,  he  never  seemed  inclined  to  controversy  ;  and  I  can 
readily  believe  that  he  would  gracefully  and  skilfully  turn  the 
subject  aside  when  in  conversation  with  a  gentleman  holding 
theological  opinions  widely  different  from  his  own 

"  Among  other  things  I  have  heard  him  express  a  high  opin- 
ion of  the  ecclesiastical  organization  and  theological  system  of 
the  old  Puritans,  as  having  contributed  largely  to  stamp  upon 
New  England  character  the  best  of  its  peculiar  features." 

It  is  undoubtedly  true  that  among  his  many  studies  he  had 
not  neglected  a  somewhat  critical  examination  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures.  He  was  quite  familiar  with  the  arguments  for 
the  genuineness  and  authenticity  of  the  various  books,  even  to 
the  minor  Epistles  of  Paul  ;  and  not  many  clergymen  prob- 
ably could  readily  bring  up  such  an  array  of  learning  on  this 
subject  as  he  had  at  perfect  command. 

Mr.  Choate's  handwriting  was  famous  for  obscurity.  It  was 
impossible  for  one  not  familiar  with  it  to  decipher  its  intrica- 
cies, and  in  his  rapid  notes,  with  abbreviations  and  unfinished 
words,  for  any  one  but  himself  to  determine  the  meaning  ;  and 
even  he,  when  the  subject  was  forgotten,  sometimes  was  at  a 
loss.  And  yet,  when  closely  examined,  it  will  be  seen  not  to 
be  a  careless  or  stiff"  or  angular  scrawl ;  each  letter  is  gov- 
erned by  a  law  and  seems  striving  to  conform  to  the  normal 
type  ;  and  it  has  been  observed  by  one  much  accustomed  to 
criticise  penmanship,  the  lines  have  certain  flowing,  easy,  and 
graceful  curves,  which  give  a  kind  of  artistic  beauty. 

Mr.  Choate  was  a  little  more  than  six  feet  in  height ;  his 
frame  robust,  strong,  and  erect ;  his  walk  rapid,  yet  easy  and 
graceful,  and  with  a  force,  too,  that  seemed  to  bear  onward  not 
only  himself  but  all  about  him ;  his  head  was  covered  with  a 
profusion  of  black  curling  hair,  to  the  last  with  but  a  slight 
sprinkle  of  gray ;  his  eye  was  dark,  large,  and,  when  quiet, 
with  an  introverted,  meditative  look,  or  an  expression  dreamy 
and  rapt,  as  of  one  who  saw  afar  off"  what  you  could  not  see;^ 

1  When  aroused  or  interested,  his  her  story  before  she  suddenly  broke  off 

eye  gleamed   and  was  very  powerful  with    the    exclamation,   "  Take    them 

A  woman,  who  had  some  reputation  as  eyes  off  of  me,  Mr.  Choate,  take  them 

a  fortune-teller,  once  came  to  consult  witch  eyes  off  of  me,  or  I  can't  go 

him.     She  had  not  proceeded  far  in  on." 

VOL.  I.  27 


3J4.  MEMOIR  OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

his  smile  was  fascinating,  and  his  whole  manner  marked  with 
peculiar  and  inimitable  grace.  "He  gave  you  a  chair,"  said 
Rev.  Dr.  Adams  in  his  Funeral  Address,  "as  no  one  else  would 
do  it.  He  persuaded  you  at  his  table  to  receive  something 
from  him,  in  a  way  that  nothing  so  gross  as  language  can 
describe.  He  treated  every  man  as  though  he  were  a  gentle- 
man ;  and  he  treated  every  gentleman  almost  as  he  would  a 
lady."  His  whole  appearance  was  distinguished ;  and  though 
he  always,  with  instinctive  modesty,  avoided  notice,  he  never 
failed  to  attract  it  even  among  strangers. 

With  the  exception  of  the  time  when  he  suffered  from  the 
accident  to  his  knee,  he  was  never  seriously  ill ;  but  during 
his  whole  life  he  was  subject  to  frequent  and  severe  headaches, 
which  for  the  time  quite  disabled  him.  His  nervous  system 
vras  always  in  a  state  of  excitement ;  his  brain  was  never  at 
rest,  —  the  'perfervidwn  ingenium  allowing  him  no  quiet. 
Liberal  of  work,  impatient  of  repose,  intense  in  action,  spar- 
ing of  recreation,  —  the  wonder  is  that  his  powers  had  not 
earlier  given  way,  perhaps  with  a  sudden  crash,  or  with  a 
longer,  more  wearisome,  more  mournful  descent  to  the  dark 
valley.  For  many  years  before  his  death,  his  countenance 
was  haggard,  and  the  lines  became  deeper  and  deeper  with 
age.  A  vague  rumor  began  to  assume  consistency,  that  he 
indulged  in  the  use  of  opium.  The  conjecture  was  entirely 
false.  His  physicians  have  given  me  their  direct  testimony 
on  this  point.  A  Dover's  powder  would  at  any  time  put 
him  to  sleep.  If  farther  proof  were  needed,  we  have  it  in 
his  never  ceasing  labors,  in  the  constant  command  of  his  fac- 
ulties, early  and  late,  which  failed  only  with  his  life,  and  in 
his  own  positive  denial  of  the  truth  of  the  injurious  report. 
He  was  temperate,  and  almost  abstemious  in  eating  and  drink- 
ing ;  rarely  indulging  in  stimulants,  and  never  using  them  to 
excess. 

During  the  latter  years  of  Mr.  Choate's  life,  his  mind, 
never  indiffierent  to  religious  subjects,  was  inclined  more  than 
ever  to  the  consideration  of  man's  nature  and  destiny,  his 
moral  duties,  and  his  relations  to  God.  He  had  an  implicit 
faith  in  the  Christian  religion  ;  and  felt  a  confidence  so  sure 
in  that  form  of  it  which  he  had  been  early  taught,  that  he 
did  not  care  to  disturb  his  belief  by  rash  and  objectless  specu- 


Chap.  XI.]  HIS   RELIGIOUS   OPINIONS.  315 

lation.  He  regarded  the  ancient  symbols,  especially  as  held 
by  the  Fathers  of  New  England,  with  profound  respect  and 
acquiescence.  He  felt  the  need  of  some  creed  or  formulary 
of  religious  belief  which  should  hold  the  mind  firm  and  un- 
wavering amidst  the  vagaries  and  fluctuations  of  human  opin- 
ions ;  and  a  serious  deviation  from  the  old  and  established 
ways  was  fraught  with  he  knew  not  how  much  error. 

He  retained  also  an  instinctive  regard  for  the  old  habits 
and  practices  of  his  father's  house.  Though  extremely  in- 
dulgent, he  preferred  to  have  his  children  at  home  and  quiet 
on  a  Saturday  evening,  and  engaged  in  thoughtful  and  serious 
employments.  When  prayers  were  read  in  the  family,  he  was 
particular  that  all  should  be  present.  Though  never  making 
a  public  profession  of  religious  faith,  he  often  expressed  sat- 
isfaction when  others  did  so,  and  showed  beyond  mistake,  in 
many  ways,  his  respect  and  veneration  for  a  truly  religious 
character.  His  religious  reading,  not  only  of  speculative  and 
philosophical,  but  of  practical  works,  was  quite  general,  and 
for  many  of  his  later  years,  constant  and  habitual.  Unlike 
many  men  of  eminence,  he  was  specially  averse  to  conversing 
about  himself.  There  was  a  sacred  chamber  in  his  soul  which 
he  opened  only  to  a  few  of  his  most  intimate  friends,  and 
hardly  to  them.  There  he  must  be  safe  from  the  intrusion, 
even  of  those  who  might  have  some  claim  to  enter.  In  per- 
sonal intercourse,  up  to  a  certain  point,  he  seemed  without 
reserve,  as  he  really  was  ;  beyond  it,  the  most  astute  diplo- 
matist could  not  be  more  impenetrable  or  elusive.  This  was 
not  the  result  of  calculation  or  of  will,  but  instinctive,  —  a 
part  of  his  idiosyncrasy.  It  was  surprising,  and  almost  won- 
derful, with  what  ease  and  certainty  he  repelled  an  attempt  to 
penetrate  the  sanctuary  of  his  feelings,  and  yet  with  such  gen- 
tleness that  the  intruder  at  first  hardly  perceived  it,  and  only 
discovered  on  reflection  that  he  had  not  succeeded.  He  sel- 
dom asked  advice,  or  depended  on  the  judgment  of  others,  in 
determining  his  own  course  of  action.  If  this  was  true  with 
relation  to  social  or  public  life,  it  was  more  emphatically  true 
of  his  religious  faith.  His  personal  belief  and  hopes  you  must 
infer  from  what  he  was,  from  the  aflections  and  sentiments 
which  he  habitually  expressed,  from  the  serious  tenor  of  his 
life,  and  from  his  rare  and  casual  conversations  with  the  few 


316  MEMOIR   OF  RUFUS   CHOATE.  [Chap.  XL 

who  were  most  in  sympathy  with  him.  To  those  with  whom 
he  disasi^reed  he  was  always  courteous  and  deferential,  and 
might  sometimes  even  appear  indifferent  as  to  theological  opin- 
ions ;  but  a  discussion  with  such  was  impossible.  The  faith 
of  his  father  and  mother  was  his  to  the  last,  and  perhaps  more 
decidedly  at  the  last  than  ever  before. 

He  left  us  still  in  the  prime  and  vigor  of  his  days  at  an 
age  when  many  retire  from  the  heated  strifes  of  the  summer 
of  life  to  a  serener  autumn.  But  it  is  doubtful  whether  he 
could  have  been  contented  without  labor,  and  whether  he 
would  not  of  necessity  have  continued  at  his  post  till  mind 
or  body  gave  way.  He  was  spared  longer  than  many  whose 
names  will  always  be  cherished,  —  longer  than  James  Otis, 
longer  than  Fisher  Ames,  longer  than  Alexander  Hamilton, 
or  William  Pinkney,  or  Samuel  Dexter,  or  Justice  Talfourd. 
He  died  in  the  fulness  of  his  fame,  having  won  the  uni- 
versal respect  and  love  of  his  contemporaries.  He  died  be- 
fore his  patriotic  fears  were  in  any  measure  realized ;  the 
country  which  he  so  profoundly  loved  still  united  ;  no  treason 
consummated ;  no  crime  against  the  fairest  hopes  of  the  world 
actually  committed ;  no  rash  counsels  carried  over  into  des- 
perate act ;  no  stripe  polluted  or  erased,  no  star  blotted  out, 
from  the  flag  which  to  the  last  was  his  joy  and  pride. 


LECTURES    AND    ADDRESSES. 


27* 


LECTUEES  AND   ADDRESSES. 


THE  IMPORTANCE  OF  ILLUSTRATING  NEW-ENGLAND  HIS- 
TORY BY  A  SERIES  OF  ROMANCES  LIKE  THE  WAVERLEY 
NOVELS. 

[DELIVERED  AT  SALEM,  1833.] 

The  history  of  the  United  States,  from  the  planting  of  the 
several  Colonies  out  of  which  they  have  sprung,  to  the  end  of 
the  war  of  the  Revolution,  is  now  as  amply  written,  as  accessi- 
ble, and  as  authentic,  as  any  other  portion  of  the  history  of  the 
world,  and  incomparably  more  so  than  an  equal  portion  of  the 
history  of  the  origin  and  first  ages  of  any  other  nation  that 
ever  existed.  But  there  is  one  thing  more  which  every  lover 
of  his  country,  and  every  lover  of  literature,  would  wish  done 
for  our  early  history.  He  would  wish  to  see  such  a  genius  as 
Walter  Scott,  {exoriatur  aliquis^  or  rather  a  thousand  such 
as  he,  undertake  in  earnest  to  illustrate  that  early  history,  by 
a  series  of  romantic  compositions,  "  in  prose  or  rhyme,"  like 
the  Waverley  Novels,  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  and  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake,  —  the  scenes  of  which  should  be  laid  in 
North  America,  somewhere  in  the  time  before  the  Revolution, 
and  the  incidents  and  characters  of  which  should  be  selected 
from  the  records  and  traditions  of  that,  our  heroic  age.  He 
would  wish  at  length  to  hear  such  a  genius  mingling  the  tones 
of  a  ravishing  national  minstrelsy  with  the  grave  narrative, 
instructive  reflections,  and  chastened  feelings  of  Marshall,  Pit- 
kin, Holmes,  and  Ramsay.  He  would  wish  to  see  him  giving 
to  the  natural  scenery  of  the  New  World,  and  to  the  cel- 
ebrated personages  and  grand  incidents  of  its  earlier  annals, 
the  same  kind  and  degree  of  interest  which  Scott  has  given  to 
the  Highlands,  to  the  Reformation,  the  Crusades,  to  Richard 
the  Lion-hearted,  and  to  Louis  XL     He  would  wish  to  see 


820. 


LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 


him  clear  away  the  obscurity  which  two  centuries  have  been 
collecting  over  it,  and  unroll  a  vast,  comprehensive,  and  vivid 
panorama  of  our  old  New-England  lifetimes,  from  its  sub- 
limest  moments  to  its  minutest  manners.  He  would  wish  to 
see  him  begin  with  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims,  and  pass 
down  to  the  war  of  Independence,  from  one  epoch  and  one  gen- 
eration to  another,  like  Old  Mortality  among  the  graves  of  the 
unforgotten  faithful,  wiping  the  dust  from  the  urns  of  our 
fathers,  —  gathering  up  whatever  of  illustrious  achievement, 
of  heroic  suffering,  of  unwavering  faith,  their  history  com- 
memorates, and  weaving  it  all  into  an  immortal  and  noble 
national  literature,  —  pouring  over  the  whole  time,  its  inci- 
dents, its  actors,  its  customs,  its  opinions,  its  moods  of  feel- 
ing, the  brilliant  illustration,  the  unfading  glories,  which  the 
fictions  of  genius  alone  can  give  to  the  realities  of  life. 

For  our  lawyers,  politicians,  and  for  most  purposes  of  mere 
utility,  business,  and  intellect,  our  history  now  perhaps  unfolds 
a  sufficiently  "ample  page."  But,  I  confess,  I  should  love  to 
see  it  assume  a  form  in  which  it  should  speak  directly  to  the 
heart  and  affections  and  imagination  of  the  whole  people.  I 
should  love  to  see  by  the  side  of  these  formidable  records  of 
dates,  and  catalogues  of  British  Governors,  and  Provincial  acts 
of  Assembly, — these  registers  of  the  settlement  of  towns,  and 
the  planting  of  churches,  and  convocation  of  synods,  and 
drawing  up  of  platforms,  —  by  the  side  of  these  austere  and 
simply  severe  narratives  of  Indian  wars,  English  usurpations, 
French  intrigues.  Colonial  risings,  and  American  indepen- 
dence ;  —  I  should  love  to  see  by  the  side  of  these  great  and 
good  books,  about  a  thousand  neat  duodecimos  of  the  size  of 
Ivanhoe,  Kenilworth,  and  Marmion,  all  full  of  pictures  of  our 
natural  beauty  and  grandeur,  —  the  still  richer  pictures  of  our 
society  and  manners,  —  the  lights  and  shadows  of  our  life,  — 
full  of  touching  incidents,  generous  sentiments,  just  thoughts, 
beaming  images,  such  as  are  scattered  over  everything  which 
Scott  has  written,  as  thick  as  stars  on  the  brow  of  night,  and 
give  to  everything  he  has  written  that  imperishable,  strange 
charm,  which  will  be  on  it  and  embalm  it  forever. 

Perhaps  it  is  worthy  even  of  your  consideration,  whether 
this  is  not  a  judicious  and  reasonable  wish.  I  propose,  there- 
fore, as  the  subject  of  a  few  remarks,  this  question :  —  Is  it 


ON  ILLUSTRATING  NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY.        $21 

not  desirable  that  a  series  of  compositions  of  the  same  general 
character  with  the  novels  and  poems  of  Scott,  and  of  equal 
ability,  should  be  written  in  illustration  of  the  history  of  the 
North  American  United  States  prior  to  the  peace  of  1783  ] 

I  venture  to  maintain  Jirst,  that  such  works  as  these  would 
possess  a  very  high  historical  value.  They  would  be  valuable 
for  the  light  they  would  shed  upon  the  first  one  hundred  and 
fifty  years  of  our  Colonial  existence.  They  would  be  valuable 
as  helps  to  history,  as  contributions  to  history,  as  real  and 
authoritative  documents  of  history.  They  would  be  valuable 
for  the  same  reason  that  the  other,  more  formal  and  graver 
records  of  our  history,  are  so,  if  not  quite  in  the  same  degree. 

To  make  this  out,  it  may  be  necessary  to  pause  a  moment 
and  analyze  these  celebrated  writings,  and  inquire  what  they 
contain,  and  how  they  are  made  up.  It  is  so  easy  to  read 
Scott's  Novels  that  we  are  apt  to  forget  with  how  much  labor 
he  prepared  himself  to  tvrife  them.  We  are  imposed  on, 
startled  perhaps,  by  the  words  novel  and  poem.  We  forget 
that  any  one  of  them  is  not  merely  a  brilliant  and  delightful 
romance,  but  a  deep,  well-considered,  and  instructive  essay,  on 
the  manners,  customs,  and  political  condition  of  England  or 
Scotland,  at  the  particular  period  to  which  it  refers.  Such  is 
the  remark  of  a  foreign  critic  of  consummate  taste  and  learn- 
ing, and  it  is  certainly  just.  Let  us  reverently  attempt  to 
unfold  the  process,  —  to  indicate  the  course  of  research  and 
reflection, — by  which  they  are  perfected,  and  thus  to  detect  the 
secret  not  so  much  of  their  extraordinary  power  and  popular- 
ity as  of  their  historical  value. 

He  selects  then,  I  suppose,  (I  write  of  him  as  living ;  for 
though  dead,  he  still  speaks  to  the  whole  reading  population 
of  the  world,)  ^rsf,  the  country  in  which  he  will  lay  the 
scenes  of  his  action, — Scotland,  perhaps,  or  merry  England, 
or  the  beautiful  France.  He  marks  off  the  portions  of  that 
country  within  which  the  leading  incidents  shall  be  transacted, 
as  a  conjurer  draws  the  charmed  circle  with  his  wand  on  the 
floor  of  the  Cave  of  Magic.  Then  he  studies  the  topography 
of  the  region,  —  its  scenery,  its  giant  mountains,  its  lakes, 
glens,  forests,  falls  of  water  —  as  minutely  as  Make  Brun 
or  Humboldt ;  but  choosing  out  with  a  poet's  eye,  and  retain- 
ing with  a  poet's    recollection,  the   grand,   picturesque,   and 


LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

graceful  points  of  the  whole  transcendent  landscape.  Then 
he  goes  on  to  collect  and  treasure  up  the  artificial,  civil,  his- 
torical features  of  the  country.  He  explores  its  antiquities, 
becomes  minutely  familiar  with  every  city  and  castle  and 
cathedral  which  still  stands,  and  with  the  grander  ruins  of 
all  which  have  fallen,  —  familiar  with  every  relic  and  trace 
of  man  and  art,  —  down  even  to  the  broken  cistern  which 
the  Catholic  charity  of  a  former  age  had  hewn  out  by  the 
way-side  for  the  pilgrim  to  drink  in.  He  gathers  up  all  the 
traditions  and  legendary  history  of  the  place,  —  every  story 
of  "hopeless  love,  or  glory  won," — with  the  time,  the  spot, 
the  circumstances,  as  particularly  and  as  fondly  as  if  he  had 
lived  there  a  thousand  years.  He  selects  tlie  age  to  which 
his  narrative  shall  refer, — perhaps  that  of  Richard  or  Eliza- 
beth, or  Charles  the  Second,  or  of  the  rebellion  of  17^5 ; 
and  forthwith  engages  in  a  deep  and  discursive  study  of  its 
authentic  history  and  biography,  —  its  domestic  and  foreign 
politics ;  the  state  of  parties  ;  the  character  and  singularities 
of  the  reigning  king  and  his  court,  and  of  the  prominent 
personages  of  the  day  ;  —  its  religious  condition,  the  wars, 
revolts,  revolutions,  and  great  popular  movements ;  all  the 
predominant  objects  of  interest  and  excitement,  and  all  which 
made  up  the  public  and  out-of-door  life  and  history  of  that 
particular  generation.  He  goes  deeper  still ;  —  the  state  of 
society ;  the  manners,  customs,  and  employments  of  the  peo- 
ple ;  their  dress,  their  arms,  and  armor ;  their  amusements  ; 
their  entire  indoor  and  domestic  life ;  the  rank  and  accom- 
plishments of  the  sexes  respectively  ;  their  relations  to  each 
other ;  the  extent  of  their  popular  and  higher  education ; 
their  opinions,  superstitions,  morals,  jurisprudence  and  police, 
—  all  these  he  investigates  as  earnestly  as  if  he  were  nothing 
but  an  antiquarian,  but  with  the  liberal,  enlightened,  and  tol- 
erant curiosity  of  a  scholar,  philosopher,  philanthropist,  who 
holds  that  man  is  not  only  the  most  proper  but  most  delight- 
ful study  of  man.  Thus  thoroughly  furnished,  he  chooses 
an  affecting  incident,  real  or  imaginary,  for  his  ground-work, 
and  rears  upon  it  a  composition, — which  the  mere  novel  reader 
will  admire  for  its  absorbing  narrative  and  catastrophe ; 
the  critic  for  its  elegant  style,  dazzling  poetry,  and  elaborate 
art ;    the  student  of  human  nature   for  its  keen  and  shrewd 


ON  ILLUSTRATING  NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY.       $28 

views  of  man  — "  for  each  change  of  many-colored  life  he 
draws ;  "  the  student  of  history  for  its  penetrating  develop- 
ment and  its  splendid,  exact,  and  comprehensive  illustration 
of  the  spirit  of  one  of  the  marked  ages  of  the  world.  And 
this  is  a  Waverley  Novel ! 

Perhaps  I  am  now  prepared  to  restate  and  maintain  the 
general  position  which  I  have  taken,  —  that  a  series  of  North- 
American  or  New-England  Waverley  Novels  would  he  emi- 
nently valuable  auxiliaries  to  the  authoritative  written  history 
of  New  England  and  of  North  America. 

In  the  ^rsf  place,  they  would  embody,  and  thus  would  fix 
deep  in  the  general  mind  and  memory  of  the  whole  people,  a 
vast  amount  of  positive  information  quite  as  authentic  and 
valuable  and  curious  as  that  which  makes  up  the  matter  of 
professed  history,  but  which  the  mere  historian  does  not  and 
cannot  furnish.  They  would  thus  be  not  substitutes  for  his- 
tory, but  supplements  to  it.  Let  us  dwell  upon  this  consider- 
ation for  a  moment.  It  is  wonderful  when  you  think  closely 
on  it,  how  little  of  all  which  we  should  love  to  know,  and  ought 
to  know,  about  a  former  period  and  generation,  a  really  stand- 
ard history  tells  us.  From  the  very  nature  of  that  kind  of 
composition  it  must  be  so.  Its  appropriate  and  exclusive 
topics  are  a  few  prominent,  engrossing  and  showy  incidents,  — 
wars,  —  conquests,  —  revolutions,  —  changes  of  dynasties, — 
battles  and  sieges,  —  the  exterior  and  palpable  manifestations 
of  the  workings  of  the  stormy  and  occasional  passions  of  men 
moving  in  large  masses  on  the  high  places  of  the  world. 
These  topics  it  treats  instructively  and  eloquently.  But  what 
an  inadequate  conception  does  such  a  book  give  you  of  the 
time,  the  country,  and  the  people  to  which  it  relates  !  What 
a  meagre,  cold,  and  unengaging  outline  does  it  trace ;  and 
how  utterly  deficient  in  minute,  precise,  and  circumstantial, 
and  satisfactory  information  !  How  little  does  it  tell  you  of 
the  condition  and  character  of  the  great  body  of  the  people,  — 
their  occupations,  —  their  arts  and  customs,  —  their  joys  and 
sorrows !  —  how  little  of  the  origin,  state,  and  progress  of 
opinions,  and  of  the  spirit  of  the  age! — how  misty,  indistinct, 
and  tantalizing  are  the  glimpses  you  gain  of  that  old,  fair, 
wonderful  creation  which  you  long  to  explore !  It  is  like  a 
vast  landscape  painting  in  which  nothing  is  represented   but 


S24> 


LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES. 


the  cloven  summit  and  grand  sweep  of  the  mountain,  —  a 
portion  of  the  sounding  shore  of  the  ilhmitable  sea,  —  the 
dim  distant  course  of  a  valley,  traversed  by  the  Father  of 
Rivers  two  thousand  miles  in  length, — and  which  has  no  place 
for  the  inclosed  corn-field,  —  the  flocks  upon  a  thousand  hills, 
— the  cheerful  country-seat, — the  village  spires, — the  church- 
yard,— the  vintage, — the  harvest-home, —  the  dances  of  peas- 
ants,—  and  the  Cotter's  Saturday  night ! 

Now,  the  use,  one  use,  of  such  romances  as  Scott's  is  to 
supply  these  deficiencies  of  history.  Their  leading  object, 
perhaps,  may  be  to  tell  an  interesting  story  with  some  em- 
bellishments of  poetry  and  eloquence  and  fine  writing  and 
mighty  dialogue.  But  the  plan  on  which  they  are  composed 
requires  that  they  should  interweave  into  their  main  design,  a 
near,  distinct  and  accurate,  but  magnified  and  ornamental 
view  of  the  times,  people,  and  country  to  Mdiich  that  story  goes 
back.  They  are,  as  it  were,  telescope,  microscope,  and  kaleido- 
scope all  in  one,  if  the  laws  of  optics  permit  such  an  illustra- 
tion. They  give  you  the  natural  scenery  of  that  country  in  a 
succession  of  landscapes  fresh  and  splendid  as  any  in  the 
whole  compass  of  literature,  yet  as  topographically  accurate 
as  you  will  find  in  any  geography  or  book  of  travels.  They 
cause  a  crowded  but  exact  and  express  image  of  the  age  and 
society  of  which  they  treat  to  pass  before  you  as  you  see 
Moscow  or  Jerusalem  or  Mexico  in  a  showman's  box.  They 
introduce  genuine  specimens,  —  real  living  men  and  women 
of  every  class  and  calling  in  society,  as  it  was  then  constituted, 
and  make  them  talk  and  act  in  character.  You  see  their 
dress,  their  armor,  and  their  weapons  of  war.  You  sit  at 
their  tables,  —  you  sleep  under  their  roof-tree,  —  you  fish, 
hunt,  and  fowl  with  them.  You  follow  them  to  their  employ- 
ments in  field,  forest  and  workshop,  —  you  travel  their  roads, 

—  cross  their  rivers,  —  worship  with  them  at  church, — 
pledge  them  at  the  feast,  and  hear  their  war-cry  in  battle,  and 
the  coronach  which  announces  and  laments  their  fall.  Time 
and  space  are  thus  annihilated  by  the  power  of  genius.  In- 
stead of  reading  about  a  past  age,  you  live  in  it.  Instead  of 
looking  through  a  glass  darkly  at  vast  bodies  in  the  distance, 

—  at  the  separate,  solitary  glories  of  a  sky  beyond  your  reach, 

—  wings  as  of  the  morning   are   given  you;  you  ascend  to 


ON  ILLUSTRATING  NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY.         S^O 

that  sky  and  gaze  on  their  unveiled  present  glories.  It  is  as  if 
you  were  placed  in  the  streets  of  a  city  buried  1800  years  ago 
by  the  lava  of  a  volcano,  and  saw  it  suddenly  and  completely 
disinterred,  and  its  whole,  various  population  raised  in  a 
moment  to  life,  —  in  the  same  attitudes,  clothed  upon  with 
the  same  bodies,  wearing  the  same  dresses,  engaged  in  the 
same  occupations,  and  warmed  by  the  same  passions,  in 
which  they  perished !  It  would  carry  me  too  far  to  illustrate 
these  thoughts  by  minute  references  to  all  Scott's  poetry  and 
romances,  or  to  attempt  to  assort  the  particulars  and  sum  up 
the  aggregate  of  the  real  historical  information  for  which  we 
are  indebted  to  that  poetry  and  those  romances.  Go  back, 
however,  at  random,  to  the  age  of  Richard  of  the  Lion  Heart, 

—  the  close  of  the  twelfth  century,  the  era  of  chivalry,  the 
Crusades,  and  almost  of  Magna  Charta.  Read  of  it  first  in 
the  acute  and  elegant  Hume  and  the  laborious  Lingard  ;  and 
then  open  the  splendid  romance  of  Ivanhoe  and  see,  not  which 
most  interests  you,  but  which  relates  most  vividly,  most 
minutely,  and  most  completely,  the  authentic  history  of  the 
England  of  that  troubled  yet  glorious  day.  The  character  and 
peculiarities  of  the  chivalrous  Richard,  —  his  physical  strength, 

—  his  old  English  good-nature  and  companionable  and  con- 
vivial qualities  and  practices,  —  his  romantic  love  of  adven- 
ture and  peril,  and  of  the  rapture  of  battle  {^ceriaminis  gaucUa) 
relieved  and  softened  by  his  taste  for  troubadour  music  and 
song,  —  the  cold,  jealous,  timid  temper  of  his  brother  John, 
at  once  an  ambitious  usurper  and  an  unprincipled  voluptuary, 

—  the  intriguing  politics  of  his  court,  —  his  agency  in  procur- 
ing Richard's  long  imprisonment  in  Germany,  and  his  sudden 
start  of  terror  on  hearing  of  his  escape  and  return  to  England 
to  claim  his  throne,  —  the  separation  of  the  English  peo})le  of 
that  era  into  two  great  distinct  and  strongly  marked  races,  the 
Saxon  and  the  Norman, — the  characteristic  traits  and  employ- 
ments of  each,  —  the  relations  they  sustained  to  each  other,  — 
their  mutual  fear,  hatred  and  suspicion,  —  the  merry  lives  of 
Robin  Hood  and  his  archers  in  the  forest,  —  the  pride  and 
licentiousness  of  the  bold  Norman  barons,  and  the  barbaric 
magnificence  of  their  castles,  equipage,  and  personal  decora- 
tion,—  the  contrasted  poverty  and  dignified  sorrow  of  the  fallen 

VOL.    I.  28 


Q26  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

Saxon  chiefs,  —  the  institutions  and  rites  of  a  still  g^orgeous 
but  waning  chivalry, — the  skilful  organization,  subtle  policy, 
and  imposing  exterior  of  the  order  of  the  Templars,  —  the 
pride,  pomp,  and  circumstance  of  the  gilded  and  sounding  era 
of  the  Crusades,  —  these  topics,  this  information,  —  not  the 
well-feigned  fortunes  of  Isaac,  Rebecca,  Athelstane,  Wilfred, — 
give  to  the  surpassing  poetry  and  painting  of  this  unequalled 
romance  a  permanent  and  recognized  historical  value,  and 
entitle  it  to  a  place  upon  the  same  shelf  with  the  more  exclu- 
sive and  pretending  teachers  of  English  history. 

Let  me  remind  you  that  Scott  is  not  the  only  writer  of 
romance  who  has  made  his  fiction  the  vehicle  of  authentic  and 
useful  information  concerning  the  past,  and  thus  earned  the 
praise  of  a  great  historian.  Let  me  remind  you  of  another 
instance,  the  most  spendid  in  literature.  The  Iliad  and  Odyssey 
of  Homer,  —  what  are  they  but  great  Waverley  Novels  !  And 
yet  what  were  our  knowledge  of  the  first  400  years  of  Grecian 
history  without  them !  Herodotus,  the  father  of  history,  devotes 
about  twenty-five  duodecimo  lines  to  the  subject  of  the  Trojan 
Wanderer ;  and  without  meaning  any  disrespect  to  so  revered 
a  name,  —  so  truly  valuable  a  writer,  —  I  must  say  that  this 
part  of  his  narrative  is  just  about  as  interesting  and  instruc- 
tive as  an  account  in  a  Castine  newspaper,  that  in  a  late,  dark 
night  a  schooner  from  Eastport  got  upon  Mt.  Desert  Rock, 
partly  bilged,  but  that  no  lives  were  lost,  and  there  was  no 
insurance.  Unroll  now,  by  the  side  of  this,  the  magnificent 
cartoons  on  which  Homer  has  painted  the  heroic  age  of  the 
bright  clime  of  Battle  and  of  Song !  Abstracting  your 
attention  for  a  moment  from  the  beauty  and  grandeur  and 
consummate  art  of  these  compositions, — just  study  them  for 
the  information  they  embody.  We  all  know  that  critics  have 
deduced  the  rules  of  epic  poetry  from  these  inspired  models ; 
and  Horace  tells  us  that  they  are  better  teachers  of  morality 
than  the  Stoic  doctors  —  Chrysippus  and  Crates.  But  what 
else  may  you  learn  from  them  ?  The  ancient  geography  of 
Greece, —  the  number,  names,  localities,  and  real  or  legendary 
history  of  its  tribes,  —  the  condition  of  its  arts,  trades,  agri- 
culture, navigation,  and  civil  policy,  —  its  military  and  mari- 
time resources,  —  its  manners  and  customs, — its  religious 
opinions  and  observances,  and  mythology  and  festivals ;  —  this 


ON  ILLUSTRATING  NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY.         gO-^ 

is  the  information  for  which  we  are  indebted  to  an  old  wan- 
dering, blind  harper, — just  such  another  as  he  who  sang  the 
Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel  lo  the  ladies  of  Newark  Castle. 
This  is  the  authority  on  which  Potter  has  compiled  his  Anti- 
quities, and  Mitford  the  first  three  chapters  of  his  History. 
And  surely,  to  use  the  words  of  an  elegant  writer,  surely 
"  such  an  apocalypse  of  life,"  —  its  energetic  passions,  its 
proud  desires,  its  quiet  enjoyments,  its  sincere  affections,  its 
wasting  griefs,  its  towering  course  and  mournful  end,  —  "  was 
never  communicated  by  another  human  imagination." 

It  is  time  now  to  turn  to  our  early  history,  and  consider 
more  directly  in  what  way  and  to  what  extent  our  Iliad  and 
Odyssey,  and  Ivanhoe  and  Kenilworth,  when  they  come  to  be 
written,  will  help  to  illustrate  and  to  complete  and  to  give 
attraction  to  that  history.  Select  then,  for  this  purpose,  al- 
most at  random,  any  memorable  event  or  strongly  marked 
period  in  our  annals.  King  Philip's  War  is  as  good  an  illustra- 
tion as  at  this  moment  occurs  to  me.  What  do  our  historians 
tell  us  of  that  war  ?  and  of  New  England  during  that  war  % 
You  will  answer  substantially  this  :  It  was  a  war  excited  by 
Philip,  —  a  bold,  crafty,  and  perfidious  Indian  chief  dwelHng 
at  Bristol,  in  Rhode  Island,  —  for  the  purpose  of  extirpating 
or  expelling  the  English  colonists  of  Massachusetts,  Plymouth, 
Connecticut  and  New  Haven.  It  began  in  1675  by  an  attack 
on  the  people  of  Swanzey,  as  they  were  returning  on  Sunday 
from  meeting.  It  ended  in  August,  I676,  at  Mount  Hope 
by  the  death  of  Philip,  and  the  annihilation  of  his  tribe.  In 
the  course  of  these  two  years  he  had  succeeded  in  drawing 
into  his  designs  perhaps  fifteen  or  twenty  communities  of 
Indians,  and  had  at  one  time  and  another,  perhaps,  eight  or 
ten  thousand  men  in  arms. 

The  scenes  of  the  war  shifted  successively  from  Narragan- 
set  Bay  to  the  northern  line  of  Massachusetts  in  the  valley  of 
the  Connecticut  River.  But  there  was  safety  nowhere ;  there 
was  scarcely  a  family  of  which  a  husband,  a  son,  a  brother, 
had  not  fallen.  The  land  was  filled  with  mourning.  Six  hun- 
dred dwelling-houses  were  burned  with  fire.  Six  hundred 
armed  young  men  and  middle-aged  fell  in  battle  ;  as  many 
others,  including  women  and  children,  were  carried  away  into 
that  captivity  so  full  of  horrors  to  a  New-England  imagina- 


328  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

tion  ;  the  culture  of  the  earth  was  interrupted ;  the  prayers, 
labors,  and  sufferings  of  half  a  century  were  nearly  forever 
frustrated. 

Such  is  about  the  whole  of  what  history  records,  or  rather, 
of  what  the  great  body  of  our  well-educated  readers  know,  of 
the  New  England  of  1675,  and  of  the  severest  and  most 
interesting-  crisis  through  which,  in  any  epoch,  the  colony  was 
called  to  pass.  Now,  I  say,  commit  this  subject,  —  King 
Philip's  War,  —  to  Walter  Scott,  the  poet,  or  the  novelist,  and 
you  would  see  it  wrought  up  and  expanded  into  a  series  of 
pictures  of  the  New  England  of  that  era,  —  so  full,  so  vivid, 
so  true,  so  instructive,  so  moving,  that  they  would  grave  them- 
selves upon  the  memory,  and  dwell  in  the  hearts  of  our  whole 
people  forever.  How  he  would  do  this,  —  precisely  what 
kinds  of  novels  and  poems  he  would  write,  — 

"  What  di'ugs,  what  charms, 
What  conjuration,  and  what  mighty  magic  " 

he  would  deal  in  to  effect  this  purpose,  it  would  be  presump- 
tuous in  me  to  venture  fully  to  explain.  Some  imperfect  and 
modest  conjectures  upon  this  point,  however,  I  hope  you  will 
excuse. 

In  the  first  place,  he  would  collect  and  display  a  great 
many  particulars  of  positive  information  concerning  these  old 
times,  either  not  contained  at  all  in  our  popular  histories,  or 
not  in  a  form  to  fix  the  attention  of  the  general  reader.  He 
would  spread  out  before  you  the  external  aspects  and  scenery 
of  that  New  England,  and  contrast  them  with  those  which  our 
eyes  are  permitted  to  see,  but  which  our  fathers  died  without 
beholding.  And  what  a  contrast !  The  grand  natural  outline 
and  features  of  the  country  were  indeed  the  same  then  as  now, 
and  are  so  yesterday,  to-day,  and  always.  The  same  waves 
dashed  high  upon  the  same  "  stern  and  rock-bound  coast ;  " 
the  same  rivers  poured  their  sweet  and  cheerful  tides  into  the 
same  broad  bay ;  the  same  ascending  succession  of  geological 
formations,  —  the  narrow,  sandy  belt  of  sea-shore  and  marsh 
and  river  intervals, —  the  wider  level  of  upland, —  the  green  or 
rocky  hill, —  the  mountain  baring  its  gray  summit  to  the  skies, 
—  met  the  eye  then  as  now;  the  same  east  Mnnd  chilled  the  lin- 
gering spring  ;  the  same  fleecy  clouds,  bland  south-west,  yel- 


ON  ILLUSTRATING  NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY.        309 

low  and  crimson  leaf,  and  insidious  disease,  waited  upon  the 
coming-  in  of  autumn.  But  how  was  it  in  that  day  with  those 
more  characteristic,  changeful,  and  interesting  aspects  which 
man  gives  to  a  country  1  These  ripened  fruits  of  two  hun- 
dred years  of  lahor  and  liberty  ;  these  populous  towns  ;  this 
refined  and  affluent  society ;  these  gardens,  orchards,  and  corn- 
fields ;  these  manufactories  and  merchant  ships,  —  where  were 
they  then  ?  The  whole  colonial  population  of  New  England, 
including  Massachusetts,  Plymouth,  Connecticut,  New  Haven, 
Maine,  New  Hampshire,  at  the  breaking  out  of  that  war,  has 
been  variously  estimated  at  from  4-0,000  to  lJ20,000.  I  sup- 
pose that  80,000  may  be  a  fair  average  of  these  estimates,  — 
a  little  less  than  the  present  population  of  the  single  county  of 
Essex.  They  were  planted  along  the  coast  from  the  mouth  of 
the  Kennebec  to  New  Haven,  upon  a  strip  of  country  of  a 
medium  width,  inwards  from  the  sea,  of  forty  or  fifty  miles, — 
a  great  deal  of  which,  however,  was  still  wholly  unreclaimed  to 
cultivation,  and  much  of  it  still  occupied  by  its  original  and 
native  owners.  This  belt  of  sea-coast  —  for  it  was  no  more 
than  that  —  was  the  New  England  of  167-5.  Within  this 
belt,  and  up  the  interval  land  of  some  of  the  rivers  —  the 
Merrimack,  the  Charles,  the  Connecticut  —  which  passed 
down  through  it  to  the  sea,  a  few  settlements  had  been  thrown 
forward  ;  but  as  a  general  fact,  the  whole  vast  interior  to  the 
line  of  New  York,  Vermont,  and  Lower  Canada,  including  in 
Massachusetts  a  part  of  the  counties  of  Essex,  Middlesex, 
Worcester,  Old  Hampshire,  Berkshire,  was  a  primeval  wilder- 
ness, beneath  whose  ancient  shadow  a  score  of  Indian  tribes 
maintained  their  fires  of  war  and  council,  and  observed  the 
rites  of  that  bloody  and  horrible  Paganism  which  formed  their 
only  religion. 

On  this  narrow  border  were  stretched  along  the  low  wooden 
houses  with  their  wooden  chimneys ;  the  patches  of  Indian 
corn  crossed  and  enclosed  by  the  standing  forest ;  the  smooth- 
shaven  meadow  and  salt  marsh  ;  the  rocky  pasture  of  horses, 
sheep,  and  neat  cattle  ;  the  fish-flakes,  lumber-yards,  the  fish- 
ing boats  and  coasting  shallops  ;  West  India  and  Wine  Islands 
merchant-ships ;  the  meeting-houses,  windmills,  and  small 
stockade  forts, —  which  made  up  the  human,  artificial,  and 
visible  exterior  of  the  New  England  of  that  era.     Altogether 

28* 


330  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

the  whole  scene,  in  its  natural  and  in  its  cultivated  elements, 
was  in  exact  keeping  with  the  condition  and  character  and 
prospects  of  that  generation  of  our  ancestors.  It  was  the 
dwelling  place  of  the  Pilgrims,  and  of  the  children  of  the 
Pilgrims.  There  lay,  —  covered  over  as  it  were,  partially- 
sheltered,  yet  not  wholly  out  of  danger,  like  the  sowing  of 
a  winter  grain,  —  the  germs  of  this  day's  exceeding  glory, 
beauty,  and  strength.  There  rose,  plain,  massive,  and  deep- 
set,  the  basement  stories  of  our  religious,  civil,  and  literary 
institutions,  beaten  against  and  raged  around  by  many  a  tem- 
pest and  many  a  flood,  —  yet  not  falling,  for  their  foundation 
was  a  rock.  Fifty  years  of  continual  emigration  from  Eng- 
land, and  of  general  peace  and  general  health,  had  swelled  the 
handful  of  men  who  came  passengers  in  The  Mayflower  to 
Plymouth,  and  in  The  Abigail  to  Salem,  and  in  The  Ara- 
bella to  Boston,  into  an  infant  people.  Independence  of  the 
mother  country  had  hardly  yet  entered  the  waking  or  sleeping 
dreams  of  any  man ;  but,  as  against  all  the  world  besides,  they 
had  begun  to  utter  the  language,  put  on  the  habits,  and 
assume  the  port,  of  a  nascent  and  asserted  sovereignty  and 
national  existence.  Some  portion  of  the  great  work  which 
they  were  sent  hither  to  do  they  had  already  done.  They  had 
constructed  a  republican,  representative  government.  They 
had  made  provision  for  the  mental  and  moral  culture  of  the 
rising  nation.  Something  of  the  growth  of  a  half-century  of 
industry,  —  "  immature  buds,  blossoms  fallen  from  the  tree, 
and  green  fruit,"  —  were  beginning  to  gladden  the  natural  and 
the  moral  prospect.  Still  the  general  aspect  of  the  scenery  of 
that  day,  even  if  surveyed  from  one  of  those  eminences  which 
now  rise  in  so  much  beauty  around  Boston,  would  have  seemed 
to  the  senses  and  imagination  of  a  beholder  wild,  austere, 
and  uninviting.  The  dreams  of  some  of  the  sanguine,  early 
settlers  were  by  this  time  finished.  It  had  been  discovered  by 
this  time  that  our  soil  contained  neither  gold  nor  silver,  and 
that  although  we  could  purchase  very  good  wine  at  Fayal  or 
Madeira,  with  the  proceeds  of  the  fish  we  sold  at  Bilboa,  we 
were  not  likely  to  quite  rival  Hungary,  as  Master  Grave,  the 
engineer,  in  1629,  thought  we  should  in  the  domestic  article. 
The  single  damask  rose  grew  wild  by  the  walls,  as  Mr.  Hig- 
ginson  says  it  did  in  his  time;  but  all  felt  by  the  year  1675 


ON  ILLUSTRATING  NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY.         g^l 

that  it  was,  on  the  whole,  a  somewhat  ungenial  heaven  beneath 
which  their  lot  was  cast,  yielding-  nothing  to  luxury  and  noth- 
ing to  idleness,  but  yet  holding  out  to  faith,  to  patience,  and 
labor,  freedom  and  public  and  private  virtue,  the  promise  of  a 
latter  day  far  off  of  glory,  honor,  and  enjoyment.  Every- 
thing around  you  spoke  audibly  to  the  senses  and  imagination 
of  toil  and  privation,  of  wearisome  days  and  sleepless  nights, 
of  serious  aims,  grave  duties,  and  hope  deferred  without 
making  the  heart  sick.  You  looked  upon  the  first  and  hard- 
est conflicts  of  civilized  man  with  unreclaimed  nature  and 
uncivilized  man.  You  saw  all  around  you  the  blended  antag- 
onist manifestations  and  insignia  of  a  divided  empire.  Indian 
wigAvams  and  the  one  thousand  houses  of  Boston  sent  up 
their  smoke  into  the  same  sky.  Indian  canoes  and  the  fishing 
and  coasting  craft  and  merchantmen,  loading  for  Spain  and 
Africa  and  the  West  Indies,  floated  upon  the  same  waters. 
English  grain  and  grasses  grew  among  the  blackened  stumps 
of  the  newly  fallen  forest.  Men  went  armed  to  their  fields, 
to  meeting,  and  to  bring  home  their  brides  from  their  father's 
house  where  they  had  married  them.  It  was  like  the  contest 
of  Winter  and  Spring  described  by  Thomson,  or  like  that 
of  the  good  and  evil  principle  of  the  Oriental  superstitions ; 
and  it  might  at  first  seem  doubtful  which  would  triumph. 
But  when  you  contemplated  the  prospect  a  little  more  closely, 
—  when  you  saw  what  costly  and  dear  pledges  the  Pilgrims 
had  already  given  to  posterity  and  the  new  world,  —  when 
you  saw  the  fixtures  which  they  had  settled  into  and  incorpo- 
rated with  its  soil,  the  brick  college  at  Cambridge,  and  the 
meeting-houses  sending  up  their  spires  from  every  clearing, — 
when  you  surveyed  the  unostentatious  but  permanent  and  vast 
improvements  which  fifty  years  had  traced  upon  the  face  of 
that  stern  and  wild  land,  and  garnered  up  in  its  bosom, — when 
you  looked  steadfastly  into  the  countenances  of  those  men,  and 
read  there  that  expression  of  calm  resolve,  high  hope,  and 
fixed  faith,  —  when  you  heard  their  prayers  for  that  once 
pleasant  England  as  for  a  land  they  no  longer  desired  to  see ; 
for  the  new  world,  now  not  merely  the  scene  of  their  duties 
but  the  home  of  their  heart's  adoption,  —  you  would  no  longer 
doubt  that,  though  the  next  half-century  should  be,  as  it  proved, 
a  long,  bloody  warfare,  —  though  the  mother  country  should 


3S2 


LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 


leave  them,  as  she  did,  to  contend  single-handed  with  Indians, 
French,  and  an   unpropitious  soil  and  sky, —  though  acts  of 
navigation  and  boards  of  trade  should  restrain  their  enterprise 
and  rob  it  of  its  rewards, — that  their  triumph  was  still  certain, 
and   a   later   generation  would    partake  of  its   fruits   and  be 
encompassed  about  by  its  glory.      A  thousand  instructive  par- 
ticulars  would    be    collected   by  such   an   antiquarian   as    the 
author  of  Old   Mortality,   serving  to  illustrate    the    employ- 
ments, customs,  and  character  of  this  portion  of  our  ancestors, 
and  embodied  in  such  a  form  as  to  become  permanently  a  part 
of  the  current  knowledge  of  an  educated  people.     The  indus- 
try of  New  England  in   16J5  had  taken  almost  all  the  great 
leading  directions  in  which   it   afterwards  exerted  itself  with 
such  splendid  success.     There  were  then  nearly  five  hundred 
fishing  vessels,  large  and  small,  in  the  four   colonies.      The 
export  of  fish   to  the  north  of  Spain,  to  Fayal  and  Madeira, 
and  of  lumber,  pipe-staves,  provisions,  naval  stores,  and  neat 
cattle,  to  the  West  Indies,  and  the  import  of  wines  and  West 
India  goods  employed  from  one  to  two  hundred  vessels  more, 
of  a  larger   rate,  built  and  owned   in   New  England.     The 
principal  import  of  British  goods  was  to  Boston,  whence  they 
were  shipped  coastwise  to  Maine,  Hartford,  and  New  Haven. 
Linen,  woollen,  and  cotton  cloth,  glass,  and  salt,  to  some  extent, 
were  manufactured  in  Massachusetts.     The  flax  was  all  raised 
here  ;  the  wool  chiefly ;  the  cotton  was  imported.     The  equality 
of  fortunes  was  remarkable  even  for  that  age  of  simple  habits, 
and  general  industry  and  morality.     There  were  only  fifteen 
or   twenty  merchants   worth  five  hundred   pounds  each;  and 
there  were  no  beggars.     The  most  showy  mansion  contained 
no  more  than  twenty  rooms ;  but  the  meanest  cottage  had  at 
least  two   stories,  —  a  remarkable   improvement  since   1629, 
when  the  house  of  the  Lady  Moody,  a  person  of  great  con- 
sideration in  Salem,  is  said  to  have  been  only  nine  feet  high, 
with  a  wooden  chimney  in  the  centre.     Gov.  Winthrop  says 
in  his  Journal,  that  he  spent  in  the  years  he  was  governor,  five 
hundred  pounds  per  annum,  of  which  two  hundred  pounds, — 
not  seven  hundred  dollars,  —  would  have  maintained  him  in  a 
private   condition.      There   were    no    musicians   by  trade ;    a 
dancing-school  was    attempted,  but    failed.      But  a  fencing- 
school  in  Boston  succeeded  eminently ;  we  all  know  that  fenc- 


ON  ILLUSTRATING  NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY.         $33 

ing,  without  foils  or  tuition-fees,  was  the  daily  and  nightly- 
exercise  of  the  youth  and  manhood  of  the  colonies  for  half  the 
first  century  of  their  existence.  It  is  strikingly  characteristic 
of  our  fathers  of  that  day  of  labor,  temperate  habits,  and 
austere  general  morality,  that  a  synod  convened  in  1679  to 
inquire  what  crying  sin  of  practice  or  opinion  had  brought 
down  the  judgment  of  God  on  the  colonies,  ascribed  it  very 
much  to  the  intemperate  and  luxurious  habits  of  what  they 
deemed  a  backsliding  and  downward  age.  Hubbard  reckons 
among  the  moral  causes  of  that  war,  the  pride,  intemperance, 
and  worldly-mindedness  of  the  people ;  and  another  writer  of 
that  day  denounces  with  most  lachrymose  eloquence  the  in- 
creasing importations  of  wine,  threatening  the  Ararat  of  the 
Pilgrims  with  a  new  kind  of  deluge. 

This  last  writer  reminds  us  of  a  story  which  John  Wilkes, 
I  think,  tells  in  Boswell's  Johnson,  that  he  once  attended  a 
Sunday  meeting  in  the  interior  of  Scotland  when  the  preacher 
declaimed  most  furiously,  for  an  hour,  against  luxury,  al- 
though, said  Wilkes,  there  were  not  three  pairs  of  shoes  in 
the  whole  congregation  ! 

There  are  two  or  three  subjects,  among  a  thousand  others 
of  a  different  character,  connected  with  the  history  of  New 
England  in  that  era,  which  deserve,  and  woidd  reward,  the 
fullest  illustration  which  learning  and  genius  and  philosophy 
could  bestow.  They  have  been  treated  copiously  and  ably; 
but  I  am  sure  that  whoso  creates  the  romantic  literature  of 
the  country  will  be  found  to  have  placed  them  in  new  lights, 
and  to  have  made  them  for  the  first  time  familiar,  intelligible, 
and  interesting  to  the  mass  of  the  reading  community. 

Let  me  instance  as  one  of  these  the  old  Puritan  character. 
In  every  view  of  it,  it  was  an  extraordinary  mental  and  moral 
phenomenon.  The  countless  influences  which  have  been  act- 
ing on  man  ever  since  his  creation,  —  the  countless  variety  of 
condition  and  circumstances,  of  climate,  of  government,  of 
religion,  and  of  social  systems  in  which  he  has  lived,  never 
produced  such  a  specimen  of  character  as  this  before,  and 
never  will  do  so  again.  It  was  developed,  disciplined,  and 
perfected  for  a  particular  day  and  a  particular  duty.  When 
that  day  was  ended  and  that  duty  done,  it  was  dissolved  aoain 
into  its  elements,  and  disappeared  among  the  common  forms 


g34?  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

of  humanity,  apart  from  which  it  had  acted  and  suffered,  — 
above  which  it  had  towered,  yet  out  of  which  it  had  been  by 
a  long-  process  elaborated.  The  human  influences  which  com- 
bined to  form  the  Puritan  character  from  the  general  mind  of 
England,  —  which  set  this  sect  apart  from  all  the  rest  of  the 
community,  and  stamped  upon  it  a  system  of  manners,  a  style 
of  dress  and  salutation  and  phraseology,  a  distinct,  entire 
scheme  of  opinions  upon  religion,  government,  morality,  and 
human  life,  marking  it  off  from  the  crowds  about  it,  as  the 
fabled  waters  of  the  classical  fountain  passed  underneath  the 
sea,  unmingled,  unchanged  in  taste  or  color,  —  these  things 
are  matters  of  popular  history,  and  I  need  not  enumerate  or 
weigh  them.  What  was  the  final  end  for  which  the  Puritans 
were  raised  up,  we  also  in  some  part  all  know.  All  things 
here  in  New  England  proclaim  it.  The  works  which  they 
did,  these  testify  of  them  and  of  the  objects  and  reality  of 
their  mission,  and  they  are  inscribed  upon  all  the  sides  of 
our  religious,  political,  and  literary  edifices,  legibly  and  im- 
perishably. 

But  while  we  appreciate  what  the  Puritans  have  done,  and 
recognize  the  divine  wisdom  and  purposes  in  raising  them  up 
to  do  it,  something  is  wanting  yet  to  give  to  their  character 
and  fortunes  a  warm,  quick  interest,  a  charm  for  the  feelings 
and  imagination,  an  abiding-place  in  the  heart  and  memory 
and  affections  of  all  the  generations  of  the  people  to  whom 
they  bequeathed  these  representative  governments  and  this 
undefiled  religion.  It  is  time  that  literature  and  the  arts 
should  at  least  cooperate  with  history.  Themes  more  inspir- 
ing or  more  instructive  were  never  sung  by  old  or  modern 
bards  in  hall  or  bower.  The  whole  history  of  the  Puritans 
—  of  that  portion  which  remained  in  England  and  plucked 
Charles  from  his  throne  and  buried  crown  and  mitre  beneath 
the  foundations  of  the  Commonwealth,  and  of  that  other  not 
less  noble  portion  which  came  out  hither  from  England,  and 
founded  a  freer,  fairer,  and  more  enduring  Commonwealth  — 
all  the  leading  traits  of  their  religious,  intellectual,  and  active 
character,  their  theological  doctrines,  their  superstitions, 
their  notions  of  the  divine  government  and  economy,  and  of 
the  place  they  filled  in  it,  —  everything  about  them,  every- 
thing which  befell  them,  —  was  out  of  the  ordinary  course  of 


ON  ILLUSTRATING  NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY.        $35 

life ;  and  he  who  would  adequately  record  their  fortunes, 
display  their  peculiarities,  and  decide  upon  their  pretensions, 
must,  like  the  writer  of  the  Pentateuch,  put  in  requisition 
alternately  music,  poetry,  eloquence,  and  history,  and  speak 
by  turns  to  the  senses,  the  fancy,  and  the  reason  of  the 
world. 

They  were  persecuted  for  embracing  a  purer  Protestantism 
than  the  Episcopacy  of  England  in  the  age  of  Elizabeth. 
Instead  of  ceasing  to  be  Protestants,  persecution  made  them 
republicans,  also.  They  were  nicknamed  Puritans  by  their 
enemies ;  then  afterward  they  became  a  distinct,  solitary  caste, 

—  among,  but  not  of,  the  people  of  England.  They  were 
flattered,  they  w'ere  tempted,  they  were  shut  up  in  prison, 
they  were  baptized  with  the  fire  of  martyrdom.  Solicitation, 
violence,  were  alike  unavailing,  except  to  consolidate  their 
energies,  perfect  their  virtues,  and  mortify  their  human  affec- 
tions,—  to  raise  their  thoughts  from  the  kingdoms  and  kings 
of  this  world,  and  the  glory  of  them,  to  the  contemplation  of 
that  surpassing  glory  which  is  to  be  revealed.  Some  of  them 
at  length,  not  so  much  because  these  many  years  of  persecu- 
tion had  wearied  or  disheartened  them,  as  because  they  saw  in 
it  an  intimation  of  the  will  of  God,  sought  the  freedom  which 
there  they  found  not,  on  the  bleak  sea-shore  and  beneath  the 
dark  pine-forest  of  New  England.  History,  fiction,  litera- 
ture, does  not  record  an  incident  of  such  moral  sublimity  as 
this.  Others,  like  -^neas,  have  fled  from  the  city  of  their 
fathers  after  the  victor  has  entered  and  fired  it.  But  the 
country  they  left  was  peaceful,  cultivated,  tasteful,  merry  Eng- 
land. The  asylum  they  sought  was  upon  the  very  outside  of 
the  world.  Others  have  traversed  seas  as  wide,  for  fame  or 
gold.     Not  so  the  Puritans. 

"  Noi'  lure  of  conquest's  meteor  beam, 
Nor  dazzling  mines  of  fancy's  dream, 
Nor  wild  adventure's  love  to  roam, 
Brought  from  their  fathers'  ancient  home, 
O'er  the  wide  sea,  the  Pilgrim  host." 

It  was  fit  that  the  founders  of  our  race  should  have  been 
such  men,  —  that  they  should  have  so  labored  and  so  suffered, 

—  that  their  tried  and  strenuous  virtues  should  stand  out  in 
such  prominence  and  grandeur.     It  will  be  well  for  us  when 


335  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

their  story  shall  have  grown  "  familiar  as  a  household  word," 
when  it  shall  make  even  your  children's  bosoms  glow  and 
their  eyes  glisten  in  the  ballad  and  nursery-tale,  and  give 
pathos  and  elevation  to  our  whole  higher  national  minstrelsy. 

There  is  another  subject  connected  with  our  early  history 
eminently  adapted  to  the  nature  and  purposes  of  romantic  lit- 
erature, and  worthy  to  be  illustrated  by  such  a  literature, — 
that  is,  the  condition,  prospects,  and  fjxte  of  the  New  England 
tribes  of  Indians  at  the  epoch  of  Philip's  War.  It  has  some- 
times been  remaiked  as  a  matter  of  reproach  to  a  community, 
that  it  has  suffered  its  benefactors  to  perish  of  want,  and  then 
erected  statues  to  their  memory.  The  crime  does  not  lie  in 
erecting  the  statue,  but  in  having  suffered  the  departed  good 
and  great,  whom  it  commemorates,  to  perish.  It  has  been  our 
lot  in  the  appointments  of  Providence  to  be,  innocently  or 
criminally,  instruments  in  sweeping  from  the  earth  one  of  the 
primitive  families  of  man.  We  build  our  houses  upon  their 
graves ;  our  cattle  feed  upon  the  hills  from  which  they  cast 
their  last  look  upon  the  land,  pleasant  to  them  as  it  is  now 
pleasant  to  us,  in  which  through  an  immemorial  antiquity 
their  generations  had  been  dwelling.  The  least  we  can  do  for 
them,  for  science  and  letters,  is  to  preserve  their  history.  This 
we  have  done.  We  have  explored  their  antiquities,  studied 
and  written  their  language  and  deduced  its  grammar,  recorded 
their  traditions,  traced  their  wanderings,  and  embodied  in  one 
form  or  another  their  customs,  their  employments,  their  super- 
stitions, and  their  religious  belief.  But  there  is  in  this  con- 
nection one  thing  which,  perhaps,  poetry  and  romance  can 
alone  do,  or  can  best  do.  It  is  to  go  back  to  the  epoch  of  this 
war,  for  example,  —  paint  vividly  and  affectingly  the  condition 
of  the  tribes  which  then  wandered  over,  rather  than  occupied, 
the  boundless  wilderness  extending  from  the  margin  of  sea- 
coast  covered  by  the  colonists  to  the  line  of  New  York  and 
Canada.  The  history  of  man,  like  the  roll  of  the  Prophet,  is 
full,  within  and  without,  of  mourning,  lamentation,  and  woe ; 
but  I  do  not  know  that  in  all  that  history  there  is  a  situation 
of  such  mournful  interest  as  this. 

The  terriiile  truth  had  at  length  flashed  upon  the  Indian 
chief,  that  the  presence  of  civilization,  even  of  humane,  peace- 
ful, and  moral  civilization,  was  incompatible  with  the  existence 


ON  ILLUSTRATING  NEW-ENGLAND  HISTORY.        SSJ 

of  Indians.  He  comprehended  at  length  the  tremendous 
power  which  knowledge,  arts,  law,  government,  confer  upon 
social  man.  He  looked  in  vain  to  the  physical  energies,  the 
desperate,  random,  uncombined,  and  desultory  exertions,  the 
occasional  individual  virtues  and  abilities  of  barbarism,  for  an 
equal  power  to  resist  it.  He  saw  the  advancing  population  of 
the  Colonies.  He  saw  ship-loads  of  white  men  day  after  day 
coming  ashore  from  some  land  beyond  the  sea,  of  which  he 
could  only  know  that  it  was  over-peopled.  Every  day  the 
woodman's  axe  sounded  nearer  and  nearer.  Every  day  some 
valuable  fishing  or  hunting-ground,  or  corn-land,  or  meadow, 
passed  out  of  the  Indian  possession,  and  was  locked  up  for- 
ever in  the  mortmain  grasp  of  an  English  title.  What  then, 
where  then,  was  the  hope  of  the  Indian  1  Of  the  tribes  far 
off"  to  the  East,  —  the  once  terrible  Tarrateens,  —  they  had  no 
knowledge,  but  more  dread  than  of  the  English  themselves. 
The  difficulty  of  communication,  the  diversity  of  languages, 
the  want  of  a  press,  the  unsocial  habits  and  policy  of  all 
nomadic  races,  made  alliances  with  the  Five  Nations  in  New 
York  —  with  any  considerable  tribe  out  of  New  England  — 
impracticable.  Civilization,  too,  was  pushing  its  prow  up 
the  Hudson,  even  more  adventurously  than  upon  the  Con- 
necticut and  Charles,  the  Merrimack,  the  Piscataqua,  and  the 
Kennebec.  They  were  encompassed  about  as  by  the  embrace 
of  a  serpent,  contracting  its  folds  closer  at  every  turn  and 
struggle  of  its  victim,  and  leisurely  choosing  its  own  time 
to  crush  him  to  death.  Such  were  the  condition  and  pros- 
pects of  the  Indians  of  New  England  at  the  beginning  of 
Philip's  war. 

It  is  doubtful  if  that  celebrated  chief  intended  to  provoke 
such  a  war,  or  if  he  ever  anticipated  for  it  a  successful  issue. 
But  there  is  no  doubt  that  after  it  had  begun  he  threw  his 
whole  great  powers  into  the  conduct  of  it, — that  he  formed 
and  moved  a  confederacy  of  almost  all  the  aborigines  of  New 
England  to  its  support,  —  that  he  exhausted  every  resource  of 
bravery  and  Indian  soldiership  and  statesmanship,  —  that  he 
died  at  last  for  a  land  and  for  a  throne  which  he  could  not 
save.  Our  fathers  called  him  King  Philip,  in  jest.  I  would 
not  wrong  his  warrior-shade  by  comparing  him  with  any  five 

VOL.  I.  29 


338  LECTURES   AND  ADDRESSES. 

in  six  of  the  kings  of  Europe,  of  his  day  or  ours;  and  I  sin- 
cerely wish  that  the  elaborate  jests  and  puns  put  forth  by 
Hubbard  and  Mather  upon  occasion  of  his  death,  were  erased 
from  the  records  of  New  England. 

In  the  course  of  this  decisive  struggle  with  the  Colonists, 
the  Indians,  some  time  when  all  human  help  seemed  to  fail, 
turned  in  anger  and  despair  to  the  gods  of  their  gloomy  and 
peculiar  worship.  Beneath  the  shades  of  the  forest,  which 
had  stood  from  the  creation,  —  at  the  entrance  of  caverns  at 
midni£;-ht,  —  in  tempest  and  thunder, — they  shed  the  human 
blood  and  uttered  the  incantations  which  their  superstitions 
prescribed,  and  called  up  the  spirits  of  evil  to  blast  these 
daring-  strangers  who  neither  feared,  nor  honored,  nor  recog- 
nized the  ancient  divinities  of  the  Indians.  The  spirits  they 
had  raised  abandoned  them.  Their  offering  was  not  accepted, 
—  their  fires  of  sacrifice  were  put  out.  The  long,  dreary  sigh 
of  the  night-wind  in  the  tops  of  the  pines  alone  answered  their 
misguided  and  erring  prayers.  Then  they  felt  that  their  doom 
was  sealed,  and  the  cry  —  piercing,  bitter,  and  final  —  of  a 
perishing  nation  arose  to  heaven  ! 

Let  me  solicit  your  attention  to  another  view  of  this  sub- 
ject. I  have  urged  thus  far,  that  our  future  Waverley  Novels 
and  poetry  would  contain  a  good  deal  of  positive  information 
which  our  histories  do  not  contain,  —  gleanings,  if  you  please, 
of  what  the  licensed  reapers  have,  intentionally  or  uninten- 
tionally, let  fall  from  their  hands ;  and  that  this  information 
would  be  authentic  and  valuable.  I  now  add,  that  they  would 
have  another  use.  They  would  make  the  information  which 
our  histories  do  contain  more  accessible  and  more  engaging  to 
the  great  body  of  readers,  even  if  they  made  no  addition  to 
its  absolute  quantity.  They  would  melt  down,  as  it  were,  and 
stamp  the  heavy  bullion  into  a  convenient,  universal  circulating 
medium.  They  would  impress  the  facts,  the  lessons  of  his- 
tory, more  deeply,  and  incorporate  them  more  intimately  into 
the  general  mind  and  heart,  and  current  and  common  knowl- 
edge of  the  people. 

All  history,  all  records  of  the  past,  of  the  acts,  opinions, 
and  characters  of  those  who  have  preceded  us  in  the  great 
procession  of  the  generations,  is  full  of  instruction,  and 
written  for  instruction.     Especially  may  we  say  so  of  our  own 


ON  ILLUSTRATING  NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY.        339 

history.  But  of  all  which  it  teaches,  its  moral  lessons  are, 
perhaps,  the  most  valuable.  It  holds  up  to  our  emulation  and 
love  great  models  of  patriotism  and  virtue.  It  introduces  us 
into  the  presence  of  venerated  ancestors,  "  of  whom  the  world 
was  not  worthy."  It  teaches  us  to  appreciate  and  cherish  this 
good  land,  these  free  forms  of  government,  this  pure  worship 
of  the  conscience,  these  schools  of  popular  learning,  by  remind- 
ing us  through  how  much  tribulation,  not  our  own,  but  others, 
these  best  gifts  of  God  to  man  have  been  secured  to  us.  It 
corrects  the  cold  selfishness  which  would  regard  ourselves,  our 
day,  and  our  generation,  as  a  separate  and  insulated  portion  of 
man  and  time  ;  and,  awakening  our  sympathies  for  those  who 
have  gone  before,  it  makes  us  mindful,  also,  of  those  who 
are  to  follow,  and  thus  binds  us  to  our  fathers  and  to  our  pos- 
terity by  a  lengthening  and  golden  cord.  It  helps  us  to  re- 
alize the  serene  and  august  presence  and  paramount  claims  of 
our  country,  and  swells  the  deep  and  full  flood  of  American 
feeling. 

Such  are  some  of  the  moral  influences  and  uses  of  our  his- 
tory. Now,  I  say  that  he  who  writes  the  romance  of  history, 
as  Scott  has  written  it,  shall  teach  these  lessons,  and  exert  and 
diffuse  these  influences,  even  better  than  he  who  confines  him- 
self to  what  I  may  call  the  reality  of  history.  In  the  first 
place,  he  could  make  a  more  select  and  discriminating  choice 
of  incidents  and  characters  and  periods  of  time.  There  is  a 
story  told  of  an  epicure  who  never  would  eat  more  than  one 
mouthful  out  of  the  sunny  side  of  the  peach.  That  is  about 
the  proportion,  about  the  quality,  of  all  which  Scott  culls  out 
of  history. 

Much  of  what  history  relates  produces  no  impression  upon 
the  moral  sentiments  or  the  imagination.  Much  of  it  rather 
chills,  shames,  and  disgusts  us,  than  otherwise.  Throughout 
it  is  constantly  exciting  a  succession  of  discordant  and  contra- 
dictory emotions,  —  alternate  pride  and  mortification,  alternate 
love  and  anger,  alternate  commendation  and  blame.  The 
persecutions  of  the  Quakers,  the  controversies  with  Roger 
Williams  and  Mrs.  Hutchinson,  the  perpetual  synods  and 
ecclesiastical  surveillance  of  the  old  times ;  a  great  deal  of 
this  is  too  tedious  to  be  read,  or  it  offends  and  alienates  you. 
It  is  truth,  fact ;  but  it  is  just  what  you  do  not  want  to  know, 


340  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

and  are  none  the  wiser  for  knowing^.  Now,  he  who  writes  the 
romance  of  history  takes  his  choice  of  all  its  ample  hut  incon- 
gruous material.  "  Whatsoever  things  are  honest,  whatsoever 
things  are  just,  whatsoever  things  are  pure,  whatsoever  things 
are  lovely,  whatsoever  things  are  of  good  report,  if  there  be 
any  virtue  and  if  there  be  any  praise," — ^  these  things  alone  he 
thinks  of  and  impresses.  In  this  sense  he  accommodates  the 
show  of  things  to  the  desires  and  the  needs  of  the  immortal, 
moral  nature.  To  vary  a  figure  of  Milton's,  instead  of 
crowding  his  net,  as  Time  crowds  his,  with  all  things  pre- 
cious and  vile,  —  bright  gems,  sea-weed  mixed  with  sand, 
bones  of  fishes,  —  he  only  dives  for  and  brings  up  coral  and 
pearl,  and  shells  golden-valved  and  rainbow-colored,  murmur- 
ing to  the  ear  like  an  J^olian  harp.  He  remembers  that  it  is 
an  heroic  age  to  whose  contemplation  he  would  turn  us  back ; 
and  as  no  man  is  a  hero  to  his  servant,  so  no  age  is  heroic  of 
which  the  whole  truth  is  recorded.  He  records  the  useful 
truth  therefore,  only,  —  gathering  only  the  wheat,  wine,  and 
oil,  into  his  garner,  —  leaving  all  the  rest  to  putrefy  or  be 
burned. 

But  farther.  Such  a  writer  as  I  am  supposing  is  not  only 
privileged  to  be  more  select  and  felicitous  in  his  topics,  his 
incidents,  characters,  and  eras,  but  he  treats  these  topics  dif- 
ferently, and  in  a  way  to  give  ten  thousand-fold  more  interest 
and  impressiveness  to  all  the  moral  lessons  they  are  adapted 
to  teach.  He  tells  the  truth,  to  be  sure ;  but  he  does  not  tell 
the  whole  truth,  for  that  would  be  sometimes  misplaced  and 
discordant.  He  tells  something  more  than  the  truth,  too, 
remembering  that  though  man  is  not  of  imagination  all  com- 
jyact^  he  is  yet,  in  part,  a  creature  of  imagination,  and  can  be 
reached  and  perfected  by  a  law  of  his  nature  in  part  only 
through  the  imagination.  He  makes  the  imagination,  there- 
fore, he  makes  art,  wit,  eloquence,  philosophy,  and  poetry, 
invention,  a  skilful  plot,  a  spirited  dialogue,  a  happy  play,  bal- 
ance and  rivalry  of  characters,  —  he  makes  all  these  contribute 
to  embellish  and  recommend  that  essential,  historical  truth 
which  is  as  the  nucleus  of  the  whole  fair  orb.  Thus  he  gives 
a  vividness,  individuality,  nearness,  magnitude,  to  the  remotest 
past,  which  hardly  belongs  to  the  engrossing  and  visible  pres- 
ent, and  which   history  gives   to  nothing.     The   Richard  of 


ON  ILLUSTRATING  NEW  ENGLAND  HISTORY.        34. 1 

Scott  in  his  general  character  and  principal  fortunes,  in  his 
chronology  and  geography,  so  to  speak,  is  the  Richard  of  his- 
tory. But  the  reason  you  know  him  better  is  this :  the  par- 
ticular situations  in  which  you  see  him  in  Ivanhoe  and  the 
Crusaders,  the  conversations  he  holds,  his  obstreperous  con- 
test of  drink  and  music  with  the  holy  clerk  in  the  cell,  that 
more  glorious  contest  with  the  traitors  in  the  wood,  with  the 
Normans  in  the  castle,  the  scene  in  his  tent  in  which  he  was 
so  nearly  assassinated,  and  that  in  Saladin's  tent  where  he 
challenged  him  in  all  love  and  honor  to  do  mortal  battle  for 
the  possession  of  Jerusalem,  —  these  are  all  supplied  by  the 
imagination  of  the  writer  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader. 
Probably  they  all  happened  just  as  they  are  set  forth;  but 
you  can't  exactly  prove  it  out  of  any  book  of  history.  They 
are  all  probable ;  they  are  exactly  consistent  with  what  we  do 
know  and  can  prove.  But  the  record  is  lost  by  time  and  acci- 
dent. They  lie  beyond  the  province  of  reason ;  but  faith  and 
imagination  stretch  beyond  that  province,  and  complete  the 
shadowy  and  imperfect  revelation.  History  shows  you  pros- 
pects by  starlight,  or  at  best  by  the  waning  moon.  Romantic 
fiction,  as  Scott  writes  it,  does  not  create  a  new  heaven  and  a 
new  earth;  but  it  just  pours  the  brightness  of  noonday  over 
the  earth  and  sky.  He  shows  you  the  same  prospe?!t  which 
history  does.  But  he  shows  it  from  a  different  point  of  view, 
and  through  a  brighter,  more  lustrous  medium,  and  by  a  more 
powerful  optical  instrument.  Some  things  which  history  would 
show,  you  do  not  see.  But  you  see  the  best  of  everything, 
—  all  that  is  grand  and  beautiful  of  nature,  all  that  is  bril- 
liant in  achievement,  all  that  is  magnanimous  in  virtue,  all 
that  is  sublime  in  self-sacrifice;  and  you  see  a  great  deal 
more  of  which  history  shows  you  nothing.  To  say  that 
Scott's  view  of  an  age,  a  character,  or  a  historical  event,  is 
not  a  true  view,  is  not  much  more  sensible  than  to  say  that 
nothing  exists  but  what  you  can  see  in  the  dark,  —  that  he 
who  brings  a  light  into  your  room  in  the  night,  suddenly 
creates  everything  which  you  are  enabled  to  discover  by  the 
light  of  it. 

I  do  not  know  that  I  can  better  illustrate  this  difference 
between  the  romance  and  the  reality  of  history,  and  in  some 
respects  the  superiority  of  the  former  for  teaching  and  im- 

29* 


342  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES. 

pressing"  mere  historical  truth,  than  by  going"  back  to  the  ten 
years  which  immediately  preceded  the  Battle  of  Lexington. 
If  idle  wishes  were  not  sinful  as  well  as  idle,  that  of  all  time 
past  is  the  period  in  which  we  might  all  wish  to  have  lived. 
Yet  how  meagre  and  unsatisfactory  is  the  mere  written  his- 
tory of  that  day.  Indeed,  there  is  hardly  anything-  there  for 
history.  The  tea  was  thrown  overboard,  to  be  sure,  and  The 
Gaspar  burned;  town  meetings  were  held,  and  committees 
of  correspondence  chosen,  and  touching-  appeals,  of  pathos  and 
argument  and  eloquence  unequalled,  addressed  to  the  king  and 
peo])le  of  England  in  behalf  of  their  oppressed  subjects  and 
brethren  of  America.  And  when  history  has  told  you  this 
she  is  silent.  You  must  go  to  Scott,  or  evoke  the  still 
mightier  Shakspeare  or  Homer,  if  you  would  truly  know 
what  that  day  was,  —  what  the  people  of  that  day  were,  — 
if  you  would  share  in  that  strong  and  wide  excitement, 
see  that  feeling,  not  loud  but  deep,  of  anger  and  grief  and 
conscious  worth,  and  the  sense  of  violated  rights,  in  that 
mingled  and  luxurious  emotion  of  hope  and  apprehension 
with  which  the  heart  of  the  whole  country  throbbed  and  la- 
bored as  the  heart  of  a  man.  And  how  would  Scott  reveal 
to  you  the  spirit  of  that  age"?  He  would  place  you  in  the 
middle  of  a  group  of  citizens  of  Boston,  going  home  from 
the  Old  South,  perhaps,  or  Faneuil  Hall,  where  James  Otis, 
or  Josiah  Quincy,  or  Samuel  Adams,  had  been  speaking,  and 
let  you  listen  to  their  conversation.  He  would  take  you  to 
their  meeting  on  Sunday  when  the  congregation  stood  up  in 
prayer,  and  the  venerable  pastor  adverted  to  the  crisis,  and 
asked  for  strength  and  guidance  from  above  to  meet  it.  He 
would  remark  to  you  that  varied  expression  which  ran  instan- 
taneously over  the  general  countenance  of  the  assembly,  and 
show  you  in  that  varied  expression  —  the  varied  fortunes  of 
America  —  the  short  sorrow,  the  long  joy,  the  strife,  the  tri- 
um|)h,  the  agony,  and  the  glory.  In  that  congregation  you 
might  see  in  one  seat  the  worn  frame  of  a  mother  whose 
husband  followed  the  banners  of  Wolfe,  and  fell  with  him  on 
the  Plains  of  Abraham,  shuddering  with  apprehension  lest 
such  a  life  and  such  a  death  await  her  only  son,  yet  striving 
as  became  a  matron  of  New  England,  for  grace  to  make  even 
that  sacrifice.     You  might  see  old  men  who  dragged  Sir  Wil- 


ON  ILLUSTRATING  NEW  ENGLAND   HISTORY.        S4^S 

Ham  Pepperell's  cannon  along  the  beach  at  Louisburgf,  now 
only  regretting  that  they  had  not  half  so  much  youthful  vigor 
left  to  fight  their  king  as  they  then  used  up  in  fighting  his 
enemies.  You  read  in  yonder  eye  of  fire  the  energy  and  ar- 
dor of  a  statesman  like  John  Adams,  seeing  clear  througli  that 
day's  business,  and  beholding  the  bright  spot  beyond  the 
gloom.  You  see  the  blood  mount  into  that  cheek  of  manly 
beauty,  betraying  the  youthful  Warren's  dream  of  fame ! 
But  as  the  pastor  proceeded,  and  his  feelings  rose,  and  his 
voice  swelled  to  its  full  expression,  as  he  touched  on  the  rights 
of  the  Colonies  and  the  injustice  of  the  king,  —  as  his  kin- 
dling imagination  presented  to  him  the  scenes  of  coming  and 
doubtful  conflict,  and  he  prayed  that  He  to  whom  the  shields 
of  the  earth  belong,  would  gird  on  his  sword  and  go  forth 
with  our  hosts  on  the  day  of  battle,  and  would  open  their 
eyes  to  behold  in  every  valley  and  in  every  plain,  as  the 
prophet  beheld  by  the  same  illumination,  chariots  of  fire  and 
horses  of  fire,  —  you  would  see  then,  all  those  minor  shades 
of  individual  peculiarity  pass  away  from  the  face  of  the 
assembly,  and  one  universal  and  sublime  expression  of  re- 
ligion and  patriotism  diffuse  itself  over  all  countenances  alike, 
as  sunshine  upon  a  late  disturbed  sea. 

Thus  somewhat  would  Scott  contrive  to  give  you  a  percep- 
tion of  that  indefinable  yet  real  and  operative  existence,  — 
the  spirit  of  a  strongly  agitated  age,  —  of  the  temper  and 
determination  of  a  people  in  a  state  of  high  excitement  and 
fermentation,  not  yet  broken  out  into  overt  conduct,  —  of 
that  interval  so  full  of  strange  interest,  between  the  acting 
of  a  dreadful  thing  and  the  first  motion.  He  does  it  simply 
and  shortly  by  the  power  of  ])hilosophical  imagination  work- 
ing upon  known  facts,  actual  experience,  and  the  uniform  laws 
of  the  human  mind. 

In  leaving  this  subject,  I  cannot  help  suggesting,  at  the 
hazard  of  being  thought  whimsical,  that  a  literature  of  such 
writings  as  these,  embodying  the  romance  of  the  whole  rev- 
olutionary and  ante-revolutionary  history  of  the  United  States, 
might  do  something  to  perpetuate  the  Union  itself.  The  in- 
fluence of  a  rich  literature  of  passion  and  fancy  upon  society 
must  not  be  denied  merely  because  you  cannot  measure  it  by 
the  yard  or  detect  it  by  the  barometer.     Poems  and  romances 


34,4.  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

which  shall  be  read  in  every  parlor,  by  every  fireside,  in  every 
school-house,  behind  every  counter,  in  every  printing-office, 
in  every  lawyer's  office,  at  every  weekly  evening  club,  in  all 
the  States  of  this  Confederacy,  must  do  something,  along  with 
more  palpable  if  not  more  powerful  agents,  toward  mould- 
ing and  fixing  that  final,  grand,  complex  result,  —  the  national 
character.  A  keen,  well-instructed  judge  of  such  things 
said,  if  he  might  write  the  ballads  of  a  people,  he  cared  lit- 
tle who  made  its  laws.  Let  me  say,  if  a  hundred  men  of 
genius  would  extract  such  a  body  of  romantic  literature  from 
our  early  history  as  Scott  has  extracted  from  the  history  of 
Enofland  and  Scotland,  and  as  Homer  extracted  from  that 
of  Greece,  it  perhaps  would  not  be  so  alarming  if  demagogues 
should  preach,  or  governors  practise,  or  executives  tolerate 
nullification.  Such  a  literature  would  be  a  common  property 
of  all  the  States,  —  a  treasure  of  common  ancestral  recollec- 
tions,—  more  noble  and  richer  than  our  thousand  million  acres 
of  public  land ;  and,  unlike  that  land,  it  would  be  indivisible. 
It  would  be  as  the  opening  of  a  great  fountain  for  the  healing 
of  the  nations.  It  would  turn  back  our  thoughts  from  these 
recent  and  overrated  diversities  of  interest,  —  these  contro- 
versies about  negro-cloth,  coarse- wooled  sheep  and  cotton  bag- 
ging, —  to  the  day  when  our  fathers  walked  hand  in  hand 
together  through  the  valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death  in  the 
War  of  Independence.  Reminded  of  our  fathers,  we  should 
remember  that  we  are  brethren.  The  exclusiveness  of  State 
pride,  the  narrow  selfishness  of  a  mere  local  policy,  and  the 
small  jealousies  of  vulgar  minds,  would  be  merged  in  an  ex- 
panded, comprehensive,  constitutional  sentiment  of  old,  family, 
fraternal  regard.  It  would  reassemble,  as  it  were,  the  pebple 
of  America  in  one  vast  congregation.  It  would  rehearse  in 
their  hearing  all  things  which  God  had  done  for  them  in  the 
old  time  ;  it  would  proclaim  the  law  once  more ;  and  then  it 
would  bid  them  join  in  that  grandest  and  most  affecting  so- 
lemnity, —  a  national  anthem  of  thanksgiving  for  the  deliv- 
erance, of  honor  for  the  dead,  of  proud  prediction  for  the 
future ! 

It  were  good  for  us  to  remember  that  nothing  which 
tends,  however  distantly,  however  imperceptibly,  to  hold  these 
States  together,  is  beneath  the  notice  of  a  considerate  patriot- 


ON  ILLUSTRATING  NEW  ENGLAND   HISTORY.        $4^5 

ism.  It  were  good  to  remember  that  some  of  the  institutions 
and  devices  by  which  former  confederacies  have  been  pre- 
served, our  circumstances  wholly  forbid  us  to  employ.  The 
tribes  of  Israel  and  Jiidah  came  up  three  times  a  year  to  the 
holy  and  beautiful  citv  and  united  in  prayer  and  praise  and 
sacrifice,  in  listening  to  that  thrilling  poetry,  in  swelling  that 
matchless  song,  which  celebrated  the  triumphs  of  their  fathers 
by  the  Red  Sea,  at  the  fords  of  Jordan,  and  on  the  high 
places  of  the  field  of  Barak's  victory.  But  we  have  no  feast 
of  the  Passover,  or  of  the  Tabernacles,  or  of  the  Commem- 
oration. The  States  of  Greece  erected  temples  of  the  gods 
by  a  common  contribution,  and  worshipped  in  them.  They 
consulted  the  same  oracle ;  they  celebrated  the  same  national 
festival ;  mingled  their  deliberations  in  the  same  Amphicty- 
onic  and  subordinate  assemblies,  and  sat  together  upon  the 
same  benches  to  hear  their  glorious  history  read  aloud,  in 
the  prose  of  Herodotus,  the  poetry  of  Homer  and  of  Pindar. 
We  have  built  no  national  temples  but  the  Capitol ;  we  con- 
sult no  common  oracle  but  the  Constitution.  We  can  meet 
together  to  celebrate  no  national  festival.  But  the  thousand 
tongues  of  the  press,  —  clearer  far  than  the  silver  trumpet 
of  the  jubilee,  —  louder  than  the  voice  of  the  herald  at  the 
games, —  may  speak  and  do  speak  to  the  whole  people,  with- 
out calling  them  from  their  homes  or  interrupting  them  in 
their  employments.  Happy  if  they  should  speak,  and  the 
people  should  hear,  those  things  which  pertain  at  least  to 
their  temporal  and  national  salvation  ! 

It  is  painful  to  reflect  that  for  whomsoever  else  is  re- 
served this  great  achievement  of  beginning  to  create  our 
national  romantic  literature,  it  is  not  for  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
He  died  at  his  residence  on  the  22d  of  September,  and 
sleeps  beneath  the  "  pillared  arches "  of  Dryburgh  Abbey. 
In  the  introduction  to  that  delightful  poem,  the  "  Lady  of 
the  Lake,"  he  represents  himself  as  taking  down  the  long 
silent  harp  of  the  North,  from  "  the  witch  elm  that  shades 
St.  Fillan's  Spring,"  and  reverently  attempting  to  wake  it 
again  to  an  echo  of  its  earlier  and  nobler  strains.  That  harp 
whose  sway  so  many  throbbing  hearts  have  owned,  is  hung 
again  on  that  tree  for  the  night-wind  to  breathe  on, — "mould- 
ering and  muffled  with   envious  ivy."     Even   now  we   may 


346  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

fancy  its  last  tones  falling  on  the  ears  of  the  Minstrel's  con- 
temporaries and  survivors. 

"  Receding  now  —  its  dying  numbers  ring 
Fainter  and  fainter  down  the  rugged  dell ; 
And  now  the  mountain  breezes  scarcely  bring 
A  wandering  witch-note  of  the  distant  spell ; 
And  now  —  'tis  silent  all  —  Enchantress,  fare  thee  well ! " 


THE   COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND: 

AN  ADDRESS  DELIVERED  AT   THE  CENTENNIAL  CELEBRATION  OF    THE  SETTLEMENT 
OF   THE  TOWN  OF  IPSWICH,  MASS.,   AUGUST  16,  1834. 


It  is  a  fact  which  a  native  of  this  old,  fertile,  and  beautiful 
town  may  learn  with  pleasure,  but  without  surprise,  that  it 
was  always  the  most  fertile  or  among  the  most  fertile  and 
most  beautiful  portions  of  the  coast  of  New  England.  John 
Smith,  who  in  1614  explored  that  coast  from  Penobscot  to 
Cape  Cod,  admires  and  praises  "  the  many  rising  hills  of 
Agawam,"  whose  tops  and  descents  are  grown  over  with 
numerous  corn-fields  and  delightful  groves,  the  island  to  the 
east,  with  its  "  fair  high  woods  of  mulberry  trees,"  and  the 
luxuriant  growth  of  oaks,  pines,  and  walnuts,  "  which  make 
the  place,"  he  says,  "  an  excellent  habitation ;"  while  the  Pil- 
grim Fathers  in  December  1620,  when  deliberating  on  the 
choice  of  a  spot  for  their  settlement,  some  of  them  "  urged 
greatly  to  Anguan  or  Angoan,  a  place  twenty  leagues  oft  to 
the  northward,  which  they  heard  to  be  an  excellent  harbor 
for  ships,  better  ground,  and  better  fishing,"  As  early  as 
January,  1632,  the  first  governor  of  Massachusetts,  John 
Winthrop,  declared  Agawam  to  be  "  the  best  place  for  til- 
lage and  cattle  in  the  land ; "  others  described  its  great 
meadows,  marshes,  and  plain  ploughing  grounds;  and  that  the 
government  of  the  infant  colony,  Massachusetts,  at  the  time 
resolved  that  it  should  be  occupied  forthwith  by  a  sort  of  gar- 
rison, in  advance  and  in  anticipation  of  its  more  formal  and 
numerous  settlement,  for  the  express  purpose  of  keeping  so 
choice  a  spot  out  of  the  hands  of  the  French.  In  March, 
1633,  accordingly,  there  was  sent  hither  a  company  of  thir- 
teen men  to  acquire  and  to  preserve  rather  for  the  future  than 
the  present  uses  of  the  Colony,  as  much  as  they  might  of 


34<8  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

that  fair  variety  of  hill,  plain,  wood,  meadow,  marsh,  and  sea- 
shore, whose  fame  had  spread  so  widely.  The  leader  of  the 
little  band  was  John  Winthroj),  the  son  of  the  Governor. 
They  arrived  in  that  month  —  the  dreariest  of  the  New  Eng- 
land year  —  on  the  banks  of  the  river  which  washes  in  his 
sweet  and  cheerful  course  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which  we 
are  assembled.  They  proceeded  to  purchase  of  Masconomo, 
the  Sagamore  of  Agawam,  by  a  deed  to  him,  Winthrop,  a 
portion  of  the  territorv  which  composes  the  present  corpora- 
tion of  Ipswich ;  and  there  remained  without,  I  imagine,  any 
considerable  addition  to  their  number,  without  any  regularly 
organized  church,  or  stated  preaching,  or  municipal  character, 
mitil  May,  1684^.  At  that  time  the  Rev.  Thomas  Parker,  the 
pupil  of  the  learned  Archbishop  Usher  of  Dublin,  and  about 
one  hundred  more,  men,  women,  and  children,  came  over  from 
"  the  Bay  "  and  took  up  their  abode  on  the  spot  thus  made 
ready  for  them.  In  August,  1684<,  the  first  church  was  or- 
ganized ;  and  on  this  day  two  hundred  years  ago  the  town 
was  incorporated.  With  that  deep  filial  love  of  England  and 
the  Enolish,  which  neither  persecution,  nor  exile,  nor  distance, 
nor  the  choice  of  another  and  dearer  home,  nor  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  rapidly  revealing  and  proud  destinies  of  the  New 
World,  ever  entirely  plucked  from  the  hearts  of  all  the  Col- 
onists down  to  the  war  of  Independence,  they  took  the  name 
of  Ipswich  from  the  Ipswich  of  the  east  coast  of  England, 
the  cajntal  of  the  county  of  Suffolk,  and  the  birthplace  of 
Cardinal  Wolsey. 

And  thus  and  by  these  was  begun  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical 
establishment  and  history  of  Ipswich.  You  have  done  well 
in  this  way  to  commemorate  an  event  of  so  much  interest  to 
you.  It  is  well  thus  filially,  thus  piously,  to  wipe  away  the 
dust,  if  you  may,  which  two  hundred  years  have  gathered  upon 
the  tombs  of  the  fathers.  It  is  well  that  you  have  gathered 
yourselves  together  on  this  height ;  that  as  you  stand  here  and 
look  abroad  upon  as  various  and  inspiring  a  view  as  the  sun 
shines  upon  ;  as  you  see  fields  of  grain  bending  before  the 
light  summer  wind,  —  one  harvest  just  now  ready  for  the 
sickle,  and  another  and  a  richer  preparing  ;  as  you  see  your 
own  flocks  upon  the  tops  and  descents  of  the  many  rising 
hills ;    njowing-lands   shaven   by  the   scythe ;    the   slow  river 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.     349 

winding-  between  still  meadows,  ministering  in  his  way  to  the 
processes  of  nature  and  of  art,  —  losing  himself  at  last  under 
your  eye  in  the  sea,  as  life,  busy  or  quiet,  glides  into  im- 
mortality ;  as  you  hear  peace  and  plenty  proclaiming  with  a 
thousand  voices  the  reign  of  freedom,  law,  order,  morality, 
and  religion ;  as  you  look  upon  these  charities  of  God, 
these  schools  of  useful  learning  and  graceful  accomplishment, 
these  great  workshops  of  your  manufacturers,  in  which  are 
witnessed  —  performed  every  day  —  achievements  of  art  and 
science  to  which  the  whole  genius  of  the  ancient  world  pre- 
sents nothing  equal ;  as  you  dwell  on  all  this  various,  touch- 
ing, inspiring  picture  in  miniature  of  a  busy,  prosperous,  free, 
happy,  thrice  and  four  times  happy,  and  blessed  people, — 
it  is  well  that  standing  here  you  should  look  backwards  as 
well  as  around  you  and  forward,  —  that  you  should  call  to 
mind,  to  whom  under  God  you  owe  all  these  things  ;  whose 
weakness  has  grown  into  this  strength  ;  whose  sorrows  have 
brought  this  exceeding  great  joy  ;  whose  tears  and  blood,  as 
they  scattered  the  seed  of  that  cold,  late,  ungenial,  and  uncer- 
tain spring,  have  fertilized  this  natural  and  moral  harvest 
which  is  rolled  out  at  your  feet  as  one  unbounded  flood. 

The  more  particular  history  of  Ipswich  from  its  settlement 
to  this  day,  and  of  the  towns  of  Hamilton  and  Essex — shoots 
successively  from  the  parent  stock — has  been  written  so  mi- 
nutely and  with  such  general  accuracy,  by  a  learned  clergy- 
man of  this  county,  that  I  may  be  spared  the  repetition  of 
details  with  which  he  has  made  you  familiar.  This  occasion, 
too,  I  tliink,  prescribes  topics  somewhat  more  general.  That 
long  line  of  learned  ministers,  upright  magistrates,  and  valiant 
men  of  whom  we  are  justly  proud  —  our  municipal  fathers 
—  were  something  more  and  other  than  the  mere  founders  of 
Ipswich  ;  and  we  must  remember  their  entire  character  and  all 
their  relations  to  their  own  times  and  to  ours,  or  we  cannot  do 
them  adequate  honor.  It  is  a  boast  of  our  local  annals  that 
they  do  not  flow  in  a  separate  and  solitary  stream,  but  blend 
themselves  with  that  broader  and  deeper  current  of  events, 
the  universal  ante-revolutionary  history  of  North  America.  It 
is  the  foundation  of  an  empire,  and  not  merely  the  purchase 
and  plantation  of  Agawam,  which  we  commemorate,  — 
whether  we  will  or  not ;  and  I  do  not  fear  that  we  shall  en- 

VOL.  I.  80 


330  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

large  our  contemplations  too  far,  or  elevate  them  too  high, 
for  the  service  to  which  we  have  devoted  this  day. 

The  history  of  the  Colonies  which  were  planted  one  after 
another  along  our  coast  in  the  seventeenth  century,  and  which 
grew  up  in  the  fulness  of  time  into  thirteen  and  at  last  into 
twenty-four  States,  from  their  respective  beginnings  to  the 
war  of  Independence,  is  full  of  interest  and  instruction,  for 
whatever  purpose  or  in  whatever  way  you  choose  to  read 
it.  But  there  is  one  point  of  view  in  which,  if  you  will  look 
at  the  events  which  furnished  the  matter  of  that  colonial  his- 
tory, I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  they  assume  a  char- 
acter of  peculiar  interest,  and  entitle  themselves  to  distinct 
and  profound  consideration.  I  regard  those  events  altogether 
as  forming  a  vast  and  various  series  of  influences,  —  a  long, 
austere,  effective  course  of  discipline  and  instruction,  —  by 
which  the  settlers  and  their  children  were  slowly  and  pain- 
fully trained  to  achieve  their  independence,  to  form  their  con- 
stitutions of  State  governments  and  of  federal  government, 
and  to  act  usefully  and  greatly  their  part  as  a  separate  political 
community  on  the  high  places  of  the  world. 

The  Colonial  period,  as  I  regard  it,  was  the  charmed, 
eventful  infancy  and  youth  of  our  national  life.  The  rev- 
olutionary and  constitutional  age,  from  177'5  to  1789,  was 
the  beginning  of  its  manhood.  The  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence, the  succeeding  conduct  of  the  war  of  Independence, 
the  establishment  of  our  local  and  general  governments, 
and  the  splendid  national  career  since  run,  —  these  are  only 
effects,  fruits,  outward  manifestations !  The  seed  was  sown, 
the  salient  living  spring  of  great  action  sunk  deep  in  that 
long,  remote,  less  brilliant,  less  regarded  season,  —  the  heroic 
age  of  America  that  preceded.  The  Revolution  was  the 
meeting  of  the  rivers  at  the  mountain.  You  may  look  there, 
to  see  them  rend  it  asunder,  tear  it  down  from  its  summit 
to  its  base,  and  pass  off"  to  the  sea. 

But  the  Colonial  period  is  the  country  above,  where  the 
rivers  were  created.  You  must  explore  that  region  if  you 
would  find  the  secret  fountains  where  they  began  their  course, 
the  contributory  streams  by  which  they  grew,  the  high  lands 
covered  with  woods,  which,  attracting  the  vapors  as  they 
floated  about  them,  poured  down  rain  and   melted  snow  to 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.     351 

swell  their  currents,  and  helped  onward  the  momentum  by  which 
they  broke  through  the  walls  of  nature  and  shook  the  earth 
itself  to  its  centre !  One  of  our  most  accomplished  scholars 
and  distinguished  public  men  speaks  somewhere  of  the  "  Mir- 
acle of  the  Revolution."  I  would  say  rather  that  the  true 
miracle  was  the  character  of  the  people  who  made  the  Revolu- 
tion ;  and  I  have  thought  that  an  attempt  to  unfold  some  of 
the  great  traits  of  that  character,  and  to  point  out  the  manner 
in  which  the  events  of  the  preceding  Colonial  Age  contributed 
to  form  and  impress  those  traits,  imperfect  as  it  must  be, 
would  be  entirely  applicable  to  this  occasion. 

The  leading  feature,  then,  in  the  character  of  the  American 
people  in  the  age  of  the  Revolution  was  what  Burke  called 
in  Parliament  their  "  fierce  spirit  of  liberty."  "  It  is  stronger 
in  them,"  said  he,  "  than  in  any  other  people  on  the  earth." 
"  I  am  convinced,"  said  our  youthful  and  glorious  Warren,  — 
in  a  letter  to  Quincy,  little  more  than  six  months  before  he  fell 
on  the  heights  of  Charlestown,  —  "I  am  convinced  that  the 
true  spirit  of  liberty  was  never  so  universally  diffused  through 
all  ranks  and  orders  of  men  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  as  it 
now  is  through  all  North  America.  It  is  the  united  voice  of 
America  to  preserve  their  freedom  or  lose  their  lives  in  de- 
fence of  it."  Whoever  overlooks,  whoever  underestimates  this 
trait  in  the  character  of  that  generation  of  our  fathers, — who- 
ever has  not  carefully  followed  it  upwards  to  its  remote  and 
deep  springs,  may  wonder  at,  but  never  can  comprehend,  the 
"  Miracle  of  the  Revolution."  Whence,  then,  did  they  derive 
it  X  Let  us  return  to  the  history  of  the  Colonists  before  they 
came,  and  after  they  came,  for  the  answer  ;  and  for  distinct- 
ness and  brevity  let  us  confine  ourselves  to  the  Northern  Col- 
onists, our  immediate  ancestors. 

The  people  of  New  England,  at  the  beginning  of  the  Rev- 
olutionary War,  to  describe  them  in  a  word,  were  the  Puritans 
of  Old  England  as  they  existed  in  that  country  in  the  first 
half  of  the  seventeenth  century;  but  changed,  —  somewhat 
improved,  let  me  say,  —  by  the  various  influences  which  acted 
upon  them  here  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  after  they  came 
over. 

The  original  stock  was  the  Puritan  character  of  the  age  of 


352  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES. 

Elizabeth,  of  James  I.,  and  of  Charles  I.  It  was  trans- 
planted to  another  soil ;  another  sun  shone  on  it ;  other  winds 
fanned  and  shook  it ;  the  seasons  of  another  heaven  for  a 
century  and  a  half  circled  round  it ;  and  there  it  stood  at 
length,  the  joint  product  of  the  old  and  the  new,  deep- 
rooted,  healthful,  its  trunk  massive,  compact,  and  of  rough 
and  gnarled  exterior,  but  bearing  to  the  sky  the  glory  of  the 
wood. 

Turn  first  now,  for  a  moment,  to  the  Old  English  Puri- 
tans, the  fathers  of  our  fathers,  of  whom  came,  of  whom 
were,  planters  of  Ipswich,  of  Massachusetts,  of  New  Eng- 
land, —  of  whom  came,  of  whom  vi^re,  our  own  Ward, 
Parker,  and  Saltonstall,  and  Wise,  Norton,  and  Rogers,  and 
Appleton,  and  Cobbet,  and  Winthrop,  —  and  see  whether  they 
were  likely  to  be  the  founders  of  a  race  of  freemen  or  slaves. 
Remember,  then,  the  true,  noblest,  the  least  questioned,  least 
questionable,  praise  of  these  men  is  this :  that  for  a  hundred 
years  they  were  the  sole  depositaries  of  the  sacred  fire  of  lib- 
erty in  England,  after  it  had  gone  out  in  every  other  bosom,  — 
that  they  saved  at  its  last  gasp  the  English  constitution,  which 
the  Tudors  and  the  first  two  Stuarts  were  rapidly  changing 
into  just  such  a  gloomy  despotism  as  they  saw  in  France  and 
Spain,  and  wrought  into  it  every  particle  of  freedom  which  it 
now  possesses,  —  that  when  they  first  took  their  seats  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  in  the  early  part  of  the  reign  of  Eliza- 
beth, they  found  it  the  cringing  and  ready  tool  of  the  throne, 
and  that  they  reanimated  it,  remodelled  it,  reasserted  its  priv- 
ileges, restored  it  to  its  constitutional  rank,  drew  back  to  it 
the  old  power  of  making  laws,  redressing  wrongs,  and  impos- 
ing taxes,  and  thus  again  rebuilt  and  opened  what  an  English- 
man called  "  the  chosen  temple  of  liberty,"  an  English  House 
of  Commons,  — ■  that  they  abridged  the  tremendous  power  of 
the  crown  and  defined  it,  —  and  when  at  last  Charles  Stuart 
resorted  to  arms  to  restore  the  despotism  they  had  partially 
overthrown,  that  they  met  him  on  a  hundred  fields  of  battle, 
and  buried,  after  a  sharp  and  long  struggle,  crown  and  mitre 
and  the  headless  trunk  of  the  king  himself  beneath  the  foun- 
dations of  a  civil  and  religious  commonwealth.  This  praise 
all  the  historians  of  England  —  Whig  and  Tory,  Protestant 
and  Catholic,   Hume,   Hallam,  Lingard,  and   all  —  award  to 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.     S5S 

the  Puritans.  By  what  causes  this  spirit  of  liberty  had  been 
breathed  into  the  mascuhne,  enthusiastic,  austere,  resolute 
character  of  this  extraordinary  body  of  men,  in  such  intensity 
as  to  mark  them  off  from  all  the  rest  of  the  people  of  Eng- 
land, I  cannot  here  and  now  particularly  consider.  It  is  a 
thrilling  and  awful  history  of  the  Puritans  in  England,  from 
their  first  emerging  abov^e  the  general  level  of  Protestants,  in 
the  time  of  Henry  VIII.  and  Edward  VI.,  until  they  were 
driven  by  hundreds  and  thousands  to  these  shores ;  but  I  must 
pass  it  over.  It  was  just  when  the  nobler  and  grander  traits 
—  the  enthusiasm  and  piety  and  hardihood  and  energy  — 
of  Puritanism  had  attained  the  highest  point  of  exaltation  to 
which,  in  England,  it  ever  mounted  up,  and  the  love  of  liberty 
had  grown  to  be  the  great  master-passion  that  fired  and  guided 
all  the  rest,  —  it  was  just  then  that  our  portion  of  its  disci- 
ples, filled  with  the  undiluted  spirit,  glowing  with  the  intensest 
fervors  of  Protestantism  and  republicanism  together,  came 
hither,  and  in  that  elevated  and  holy  and  resolved  frame, 
began  to  build  the  civil  and  religious  structures  which  you  see 
around  you. 

Trace,  now,  their  story  a  little  farther  onward  through  the 
Colonial  period  to  the  War  of  Independence,  to  admire  with 
me  the  providential  arrangement  of  circumstances  by  which 
that  spirit  of  liberty,  which  brought  them  hither,  was  strength- 
ened and  reinforced,  until  at  length,  instructed  by  wisdom, 
tempered  by  virtue,  and  influenced  by  injuries,  by  anger  and 
grief  and  conscious  worth  and  the  sense  of  violated  right,  it 
burst  forth  here  and  wrought  the  wonders  of  the  Revolution. 
I  have  thought  that  if  one  had  the  power  to  place  a  youthful 
and  forming  people,  like  the  northern  colonists,  in  whom  the 
love  of  freedom  was  already  vehement  and  healthful,  in  a  sit- 
uation the  most  propitious  for  the  growth  and  perfection  of 
that  sacred  sentiment,  he  could  hardly  select  a  fairer  field  for 
so  interesting  an  experiment  than  the  actual  condition  of  our 
fathers  for  the  hundred  and  fifty  years  after  their  arrival,  to 
the  War  of  the  Revolution. 

They  had  freedom  enough  to  teach  them  its  value,  and  to 

refresh  and  elevate  their  spirits,  wearied,  not  despondent,  from 

the  contentions  and  trials  of  England,     They  were  just  so  far 

short  of  perfect  freedom,  that,  instead  of  reposing  for  a  mo- 

30* 


354<  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

ment  in  the  mere  fruition  of  what  they  had,  they  were  kept 
emulous  and   eager  for  more,  looking  all  the  while  up  and 
aspiring  to  rise  to  a  loftier  height,  to  breathe  a  purer  air,  and 
bask  in  a  brighter  beam.     Compared  with   the  condition  of 
England  down  to  1688,  —  compared  with  that  of  the  larger 
part  of  the  continent  of  Europe  down  to  our  Revolution, — 
theirs  was  a  privileged  and  liberal  condition.     The  necessaries 
of  freedom,  if  I  may  say  so,  —  its  plainer  food  and  homelier 
garments  and  humbler  habitations,  —  were  theirs.     Its  luxu- 
ries and  refinements,  its  festivals,  its  lettered  and  social  glory, 
its  loftier  port  and  prouder  look  and  richer  graces,  were  the 
growth  of   a  later   day ;    these   came   in   with  independence. 
Here  was  liberty  enough  to  make  them  love  it  for  itself,  and 
to  fill  them  with  those  lofty  and  kindred  sentiments  which  are 
at  once  its  fruit  and  its  nutriment  and  safeguard  in  the  soul  of 
man.     But  their  liberty  was  still  incomplete,  and  it  was  con- 
stantly in  danger  from  England ;  and  these  two  circumstances 
had  a  powerful  effect  in  increasing  that  love  and  confirming 
those   sentiments.      It  was   a   condition   precisely  adapted   to 
keep  liberty,  as  a  subject  of  thought  and  feeling  and  desire, 
every  moment  in  mind.     Every  moment  they  were  comparing 
what  they  had  possessed  with  what  they  wanted  and  had  a 
right  to ;  they  calculated  by  the  rule  of  three,  if  a  fractional 
part  of  freedom  came  to  so  much,  what  would  express  the 
power  and  value  of  the  whole  number !     They  were  restive 
and  impatient  and  ill  at  ease  ;  a  galling  wakefulness  possessed 
their  faculties  like  a  spell.     Had  they  been  wholly  slaves,  they 
had   lain   still   and   slept.     Had  they  been   wholly  free,  that 
eager  hope,  that  fond  desire,  that  longing  after  a  great,  dis- 
tant, yet  practicable  good,  would  have  given  way  to  the  pla- 
cidity and   luxury  and   carelessness   of   complete   enjoyment ; 
and  that  energy  and  wholesome  agitation  of  mind  would  have 
gone  down  like  an  ebb-tide.     As  it  was,  the  whole  vast  body 
of  waters   all  over  its   surface,  down  to  its  sunless,  utmost 
depths,  was  heaved  and  shaken  and  purified  by  a  spirit  that 
moved  above  it  and   through  it,  and  gave  it  no  rest,  though 
the  moon  waned  and  the  winds  were  in  their  caves ;  they  were 
like  the  disciples  of  the  old  and  bitter  philosophy  of  Pagan- 
ism, who  had  been  initiated  into  one  stage  of  the  greater  mys- 
teries, and  who  had  come  to  the  door,  closed,  and  written  over 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.     $55 

with  strange  characters,  which  led  up  to  another.  They  had 
tasted  of  truth,  and  they  burned  for  a  fuller  draught ;  a  par- 
tial revelation  of  that  which  shall  be  hereafter,  had  dawned ; 
and  their  hearts  throbbed  eager,  yet  not  without  apprehension, 
to  look  upon  the  glories  of  the  perfect  day.  Some  of  the 
mystery  of  God,  of  Nature,  of  Man,  of  the  Universe,  had 
been  unfolded ;  might  they,  by  prayer,  by  abstinence,  by  vir- 
tue, by  retirement,  by  contemplation,  entitle  themselves  to  read 
another  page  in  the  clasped  and  awful  volume  ? 

Sparing  and  inadequate  as  their  supply  of  liberty  was,  it 
was  all  the  while  in  danger  from  the  Crown  and  Parliament 
of  England,  and  the  whole  ante-revolutionary  period  was  one 
unintermitted  struggle  to  preserve  it,  and  to  wrest  it  away. 
You  sometimes  hear  the  Stamp  Act  spoken  of  as  the  first  inva- 
sion of  the  rights  of  the  colonists  by  the  mother-country.  In 
truth,  it  was  about  the  last ;  the  most  flagrant,  perhaps,  the 
most  dreadful  and  startling  to  an  Englishman's  idea  of  liberty, 
but  not  the  first,  —  no,  by  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  not  the 
first.  From  the  day  that  the  Pilgrims  on  board  The  May- 
flower at  Plymouth,  before  they  landed,  drew  up  that  simple, 
but  pregnant  and  comprehensive,  form  of  democracy,  and  sub- 
scribed their  names,  and  came  out  a  colony  of  republicans,  to 
the  battle  of  Lexington,  there  were  not  ten  years  together,  — 
I  hardly  exempt  the  Protectorate  of  Cromwell,  —  in  which 
some  right  —  some  great  and  sacred  right,  as  the  colonists 
regarded  it  —  was  not  assailed  or  menaced  by  the  government 
of  England,  in  one  form  or  another.  From  the  first,  the 
mother-country  complained  that  we  had  brought  from  Eng- 
land, or  had  found  here,  too  much  liberty^  —  liberty  incon- 
sistent with  prerogatives  of  the  Crown,  inconsistent  with 
supremacy  of  Parliament,  inconsistent  with  the  immemorial 
relations  of  all  colonies  to  the  country  they  sprang  from,  — 
and  she  set  herself  to  abridge  it.  We  answered  with  great 
submission  that  we  did  not  honestly  think  that  we  had  brought 
or  had  found  much  more  than  half  liberty  enough ;  and  we 
braced  ourselves  to  keep  what  we  had,  and  obtain  more  when 
we  could ;  —  and  so,  with  one  kind  of  weapon  or  another,  on 
one  field  or  another,  on  one  class  of  questions  or  another,  a 
struggle  was  kept  up  from  the  landing  at  Plymouth  to  the 
surrender  at  Yorktown.     It  was  all  one  single  struggle  from 


g^Q  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

beginning-  to  end ;  the  parties,  the  objects,  the  principles,  are 
the  same ;  —  one  sharp,  long,  glorious,  triumphant  struggle 
for  liberty.  The  topics,  the  heads  of  dispute,  various  from 
reign  to  reign ;  but  though  the  subjects  were  various,  the 
question  was  one,  —  shall  the  colonists  be  free,  or  shall  they 
be  slaves '? 

And  that  question  was  pronounced  by  everybody,  under- 
stood by  everybody,  debated  by  everybody,  —  in  the  colonial 
assemblies  ;  by  the  clergy  on  the  days  of  thanksgiving,  on 
fast-days,  and  quarterly  fast-days ;  and  by  the  agents  of  the 
colonies  in  England;  and  at  last,  and  more  and  more,  through 
the  press.  I  say  nothing  here  of  the  effect  of  such  a  contro- 
versy so  long  continued,  in  sharpening  the  faculties  of  the 
colonists,  in  making  them  acute,  prompt,  ingenious,  full  of 
resource,  familiar  with  the  grounds  of  their  hberties,  their 
history,  revolutions,  extent,  nature,  and  the  best  methods  of 
defending  them  argumentatively.  These  were  important  ef- 
fects ;  but  I  rather  choose  to  ask  you  to  consider  how  the 
love  of  liberty  would  be  inflamed  ;  how  ardent,  jealous,  irre- 
sistible it  would  be  made  ;  with  what  new  and  what  exag- 
gerated value  even,  it  would  learn  to  invest  its  object,  by  being 
thus  obliged  to  struggle  so  unceasingly  to  preserve  it ;  and 
by  coming  so  many  times  so  near  to  lose  it ;  and  by  being 
thus  obliged  to  bear  it  away  like  another  Palladium,  at  the 
hazard  of  blindness,  from  the  flames  of  its  temple  which  would 
have  consumed  it,  —  across  seas  gaping  wide  to  swallow  it 
up,  —  through  serried  ranks  of  armed  men  who  had  marked 
it  for  a  prey. 

There  was  one  time  during  this  long  contest  when  it  might 
have  seemed  to  any  race  of  men  less  resolved  than  our  fathers, 
that  liberty  had  at  last  returned  from  earth  to  the  heavens  from 
which  she  descended.  A  few  years  before  1688 — the  year  of 
the  glorious  revolution  in  England  —  the  British  king  suc- 
ceeded, after  a  struggle  of  more  than  half  a  century,  in  wrest- 
ing from  Massachusetts  her  first  charter.  From  that  time,  or 
rather  from  December,  1685,  to  April,  1689,  the  government  of 
all  New  England  was  an  undisguised  and  intolerable  despotism. 
A  governor.  Sir  Edmund  Andros, — not  chosen  by  the  people 
as  every  former  governor  had  been,  but  appointed  by  James 
II.,  —  worthy  to  serve  such  a  master,  —  and  a  few  members. 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.     S&^ 

less  than  the  majority,  of  the  council,  also  appointed  by  the 
king,  and  very  fit  to  advise  such  a  governor,  grasped  and  held 
the  whole  civil  power.  And  they  exercised  it  in  the  very 
spirit  of  the  worst  of  the  Stuarts.  The  old,  known  body  of 
colonial  laws  and  customs  which  had  been  adopted  by  the 
people,  was  silently  and  totally  abolished.  New  laws  were 
made  ;  taxes  assessed ;  an  administration  all  new  and  all  vex- 
atious was  introduced,  not  by  the  people  in  general  court,  but 
by  the  governor  and  a  small,  low  faction  of  his  council,  in 
whose  election  they  had  no  vote  ;  over  whose  proceedings 
they  had  no  control ;  to  whom  their  rights  and  interests  and 
lives  were  all  as  nothing  compared  with  the  lightest  wish  of 
the  Papist  and  tyrant  James  whom  they  served.  A  majority 
of  the  council,  although  appointed  by  the  king,  wore  yet  true 
hearts  of  New  England  in  their  bosoms,  and  resisted  with  all 
their  might  the  tyranny  which  the  government  was  riveting 
upon  her.  One  of  these.  Major  Samuel  Appleton,  was  an  in- 
habitant of  Ipswich,  a  son  of  one  of  the  earliest  settlers  of  the 
town,  the  ancestor  of  a  long  line  of  learned,  energetic,  and 
most  respectable  descendants.  He  had  the  high  honor  to  be 
arrested  in  October,  1689,  by  Andros  and  his  fjiction  in  the 
council,  as  being  a  factious  member  of  the  board  and  disaf- 
fected to  the  government,  and  was  obliged  to  give  bonds  in 
the  sum  of  <£1000  to  be  of  good  political  behavior.  But  the 
efforts  of  this  gentleman,  and  of  such  as  he  in  the  council, 
could  avail  nothing  ;  and  the  arbitrary  tyranny  of  the  crea- 
tures of  the  Stuarts  became  the  only  government  of  Mas- 
sachusetts. 

In  this  the  darkest  day  that  New  England  ever  saw,  it  is 
grateful  to  pause  and  commemorate  an  act  of  this  town  of 
Ipswich  which  deserves,  I  think,  an  honorable  place  in  the 
universal  history  of  liberty.  Sir  Edmund  Andros  and  his 
faction  had,  without  the  intention  of  the  colonial  legislature, 
or  any  representatives  of  the  people,  made  a  decree  imposing 
a  State  tax  on  the  people,  against  that  fundamental  principle 
of  liberty,  that  the  people  alone  can  tax  themselves.  They 
had  assessed  in  several  towns  quotas  of  it,  and  had  com- 
manded them  to  choose  each  a  commissioner,  who,  with  the 
boards  of  the  selectmen,  should  assess  the  quota  of  the  town 
on  its  inhabitants  and  estates  respectively.     A  meeting  of  the 


358  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

inhabitants  of  Ipswich  was  warned  to  be  holden  on  the  23d 
August,  1687,  to  choose  a  commissioner  to  aid  the  selectmen 
in   assessing  the  tax.     The   evening  before  the  meeting  the 
Rev.   John  Wise,   the   minister  of  the  parish  now  Essex,  a 
learned,  able,  resolute,  and  honest   man,  —  worthy  to  preach 
to    the   chiklren   of   Puritans,  —  Robert    Kinsman,   William 
Goodhue,  Jr.,  and  several  other  principal  inhabitants  of  Ips- 
wich, held  a  preparatory  caucus  at  the  house  of  John  Apple- 
ton,   brother    of   Major   Samuel    Appleton,  which    stood,   or 
stands,  on  the  road  to  Topsfield,  and  there  "  discoursed,  and 
concluded  that  it  was  not  the  town's  duty  any  tvay  to  assist 
that  ill  method  of  raising  money  without  a   general   assem- 
bly."    The  next  day  they  attended  the  town-meeting,  and  Mr. 
Wise  made  a  speech,  enforcing  this  opinion  of  his  friends, 
and  said,   "  We  have  a   good   God,   and   a  good   king,  and 
should  do  well  to  stand  on  our  privileges."     And  by  their  priv- 
ileges they  concluded  to  stand.       I  cannot   read  the   simple, 
manly,  and  noble  vote  of  Ipswich  on  that  day  without  a  thrill 
of  pride,  —  that  then,  when  the  hearts  of  the  pious  and  brave 
children  in  Massachusetts  seemed  almost  sunk  within  them, 
■ — our  charter  gone,  James  Stuart  the  Second  on  the  throne, 
{l  suspect  it  was  irony  or  policy  of  Mr.  Wise  to  call  him  a 
good  king) — just  when  the  long-cherished,  long-dreaded  de- 
sign of  the  English  Crown  to  reduce  the  colonies  into  imme- 
diate  dependence   on   itself,   and   to   give   them,  unconcealed, 
slavery  for  substantial  freedom,  seemed  about  to  be  consum- 
mated,—  that  we  here  and  then,  with  full  knowledge  of  the 
power  and  temper  of  Andros  and  his  council,  dared  to  assert 
and  to  spread  out  upon  our  humble  record  the  great  principle 
of  English  liberty  and  of  the  American   Revolution.      The 
record  declares  "  that  considering  the  said  act  "  (referring  to 
the   order   of   the   governor   and   council    imposing   the    tax) 
"  doth  infringe  their  liberty  as  free-born  English  subjects  of 
His  Majesty,  and  by  interfering  with  the  statute  laws  of  the 
land  by  which  it  was  enacted  that  no  taxes  should  be  levied 
upon  the  subjects  ivithout  the  consent  of  an  assembly  chosen 
by  the  free  men  for  assessing  the  same,  —  they  do,  therefore, 
vote  that  they  are  not  willing  to  choose  a  commissioner  for 
such  an  end  without  such  a  privilege ;  —  and  they,  moreover, 
consent   not  that  the  selectmen  do  proceed  to  levy  any  such 


THE   COLONIAL   AGE    OF   NEW  ENGLAND.  359 

rate,  until  it  be  appointed  by  a  general  assembly,  concurring 
with  the  Governor  and  Council." 

For  the  share  they  had  taken  in  the  proceedings  of  that 
memorable  day,  Mr.  Wise  and  five  others,  probably  those  who 
met  with  him,  and  Mr.  Appleton  himself,  were  arrested,  by 
order  of  the  Governor,  as  for  a  contempt  and  misdemeanor, 
and  carried  beyond  the  limits  of  the  county,  imprisoned  in  jail 
at  Boston,  denied  the  writ  of  habeas  corpus,  tried  by  a  packed 
jury — principally  strangers  and  foreigners,  I  rejoice  to  read 
—  and  a  subservient  court,  and  of  course  found  guilty.  They 
were  all  fined  more  or  less  heavily,  from  <£15  to  £50,  com- 
pelled to  enter  into  bonds  of  from  £500  to  ^1000  each  to 
keep  the  peace,  and  Mr.  Wise  was  suspended  from  the  minis- 
terial function,  and  the  others  disqualified  to  bear  oflRce. 

The  whole  expense  of  time  and  money  to  which  they  were 
subjected  was  estimated  to  exceed  ,£400,  —  a  sum  equivalent 
to  perhaps  $5000  of  our  money,  —  enough  to  build  the  Ips- 
wich part  of  Warner's  Bridge  more  than  three  times  over; 
which  the  town  shortly  after  nobly  and  justly,  yet  gratui- 
tously, refunded  to  the  sufferers. 

These  men,  says  Pitkin,  who  is  not  remarkable  for  enthusi- 
asm, may  justly  claim  a  distinguished  rank  among  the  patriots 
of  America.  You,  their  townsmen — their  children — may  well 
be  proud  of  them  ;  prouder  still,  but  more  grateful  than  proud, 
that  a  full  town-meeting  of  the  freemen  of  Ipswich  adoj)ted 
unanimously  that  declaration  of  right,  and  refused  to  collect  or 
pay  the  tax  which  would  have  made  them  slaves.  The  princi- 
ple of  that  vote  was  precisely  the  same  on  which  Hampden 
resisted  an  imposition  of  Charles  I.,  and  on  which  Samuel 
Adams  and  Hancock  and  Warren  resisted  the  Stamp  Act, — 
the  principle  that  if  any  power  but  the  people  can  tax  the  people, 
there  is  an  end  of  liberty. 

The  later  and  more  showy  spectacles  and  brighter  glories 
and  visible  results  of  the  age  of  the  Revolution,  have  elsewhere 
cast  into  the  shade  and  almost  covered  with  oblivion  the  actors 
on  that  interesting  day,  and  the  act  itself,  —  its  hazards,  its  in- 
trepidity, its  merits,  its  singularity  and  consequences.  But 
you  will  remember  them,  and  teach  them  to  your  children. 
The  graves  of  those  plain,  venerable,  and  sturdy  men  of  the 
old,  old  time,  who  thus  set  their  lives  on  the  hazard  of  a  die 


350  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

for  the  perishing  liberties  of  Massachusetts ;  the  site  of  the 
house  where  they  assembled  —  they,  the  fathers  of  the  touii  — 
the  day  before  the  meeting-,  to  consider  what  advice  they  should 
give  to  their  children  in  that  great  crisis,  so  full  of  responsibil- 
ity and  danger ;  the  spot  on  which  that  building  stood  where 
the  meeting  was  holden  and  the  declaration  recorded, — these 
are  among  you  yet ;  your  honor,  your  treasure,  the  memorials 
and  incentives  of  virtue  and  patriotism  and  courage,  which 
feared  God  and  knew  no  other  fear !  Go  sometimes  to  those 
graves,  and  give  an  hour  of  the  summer  evening  to  the  brave 
and  pious  dead.  Go  there,  and  thank  God  for  pouring  out 
upon  them  the  spirit  of  liberty,  and  humbly  ask  Him  to  trans- 
mit it,  as  it  breathed  in  them,  their  children,  and  their  children's 
children,  to  the  thousandth  generation  ! 

I  have  said  part  of  what  I  intended  of  one  trait  in  the 
character  of  our  fathers  of  the  revolutionary  age, — their  spirit 
of  liberty.  But  something  more  than  the  love  of  liberty  is 
needful  to  fit  a  people  for  the  enjoyment  of  it.  Other  men, 
other  nations,  have  loved  liberty  as  well  as  our  fathers.  The 
sentiment  is  innate,  and  it  is  indestructible,  and  immortal. 
Yet  of  the  wide-spread  families  of  the  earth,  in  the  long  pro- 
cession of  the  generations,  that  stretches  backward  to  the  birth 
of  the  world,  how  few  have  been  free  at  all  ;  how  few  have 
been  long  free  ;  how  imperfect  was  their  liberty  while  they 
possessed  it ;  how  speedily  it  flitted  away  ;  how  hard  to  woo 
it  to  return  !  In  all  Asia  and  Africa — continents  whose 
population  is  more  than  four  sevenths  of  the  human  race  on 
earth,  whose  history  begins  ages  before  a  ray  of  the  original 
civilization  of  the  East  had  reached  to  Europe  —  there  was 
never  a  free  nation.  And  how  has  it  been  in  Europe,  that 
proud  seat  of  power,  tirt,  civilization,  enterprise,  and  mind  ? 
Alas  for  the  destiny  of  social  man  !  Here  and  there  in  ancient 
and  in  later  times,  in  Greece,  in  Rome,  in  Venice,  in  France, 
men  have  called  on  the  Goddess  of  Liberty  in  a  passionate  and 
ignorant  idolatry ;  they  have  embodied  her  angelical  brightness 
and  unclouded  serenity  in  marble  ;  they  have  performed  daz- 
zling actions,  they  have  committed  great  crimes  in  her  name  ; 
they  have  built  for  her  the  altars  where  she  best  loves  to  be 
worsliipped, —  republican  forms  of  government;  they  have 
found  energy,  genius,  the  love   of  glory,  the  mad  dream  of 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.     QQl 

power  and  pride  in  her  inspiration.  But  they  were  not  wise 
enough,  they  were  not  virtuous  enough  for  diffused,  steady, 
lasting  freedom.  Their  heads  were  not  strong  enough  to 
bear  a  draught  so  stimulatiug.  They  perished  of  ra^^ing 
fever,  kindled  by  drinking  of  the  very  waters  of  social  life  ! 
These  stars  one  after  another  burned  out,  and  fell  from  their 
throne  on  high  ! 

England  guarded  by  the  sea  ;  Holland  behind  her  dikes  ;  a 
dozen  Swiss  Cantons  breathing  the  difficult  air  of  the  iced 
mountain  tops,  —  these,  in  spite  of  revolutions,  all  were  free 
governments.  And  in  the  whole  of  the  Old  World  there  was 
not  another.  The  love  of  liberty  there  was ;  but  a  government 
founded  in  liberty  there  was  not  one  besides.  Some  thing's 
other  than  the  love  of  freedom  are  needful  to  form  a  great  and 
free  nation.  Let  us  go  farther  then,  and  observe  the  wisdom  and 
prudence  by  which,  after  a  long  and  painful  process,  our  fathers 
were  prepared,  in  mind  and  heart,  for  the  permanent  posses- 
sion, tempered  enjoyment,  and  true  use  of  that  freedom,  the 
love  of  which  was  rooted  in  their  souls  ;  the  process  by  which, 
in  the  words  of  Milton,  they  were  made  into  a  "  right  pious, 
right  honest,  right  holy  nation,"  as  well  as  a  nation  loving 
liberty.  In  running  over  that  process,  I  am  inclined  to  attach 
the  most  importance  to  the  fact  that  they  who  planted  New 
England,  and  all  the  generations  of  successors,  to  the  war  of 
Independence,  were  engaged  in  a  succession  of  the  severest 
and  gravest  trials  and  labors  and  difficulties  which  ever  tasked 
the  spirit  of  a  man  or  a  nation. 

It  has  been  said  that  there  was  never  a  great  character,  — 
never  a  truly  strong,  masculine,  commanding  character, —  which 
was  not  made  so  by  successive  struggles  with  great  difficulties. 
Such  is  the  general  rule  of  the  moral  world,  undoubtedly. 
All  history,  all  biography  verify  and  illustrate  it,  and  none 
more  remarkably  than  our  own. 

It  has  seemed  to  me  probable  that  if  the  Puritans,  on  their 
arrival  here,  had  found  a  home  like  that  they  left,  and  a  social 
system  made  ready  for  them,  —  if  they  had  found  the  forest 
felled,  roads  constructed,  rivers  bridged,  fields  sown,  houses 
built,  a  rich  soil,  a  bright  sun,  and  a  balmy  air,  —  if  they  had 
come  into  a  country  which  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  was 
never  to  hear  the  war-whoop  of  a  savage,  or  the  tap  of  a 

VOL.  I.  31 


QQ2  LECTURES   AND  ADDRESSES. 

French  drum,  —  if  they  had  found  a  commonwealth  civil  and 
religious,  a  jurisprudence,  a  system  of  police,  administration, 
and  policy,  all  to  their  hands,  churches  scattered,  districts, 
parishes,  towns,  and  counties,  widening  one  around  the  other, — 
if  England  had  covered  over  their  infancy  with  her  mighty 
wing,  spared  charters,  widened  trade,  and  knit  child  to  mother 
by  parental  policy,  —  it  is  probable  that  that  impulse  of  high 
mind,  and  that  unconquerable  constancy  of  the  first  emigrants, 
might  have  subsided  before  the  epoch  of  the  drama  of  the 
Revolution.  Their  children  might  have  grown  light,  luxu- 
rious, vain,  and  the  sacred  fire  of  liberty,  cherished  by  the 
fathers  in  the  times  of  the  Tudors  and  Stuarts,  might  have 
died  away  in  the  hearts  of  a  feeble  posterity. 

Ours  was  a  different  destiny.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that 
the  whole  Colonial  Age  was  a  scene  of  universal  and  constant 
suffering  and  labor,  and  that  there  was  no  repose ;  of  peril 
pressing  at  every  turn,  and  every  moment,  on  everybody. 
But  in  its  general  course  it  was  a  time  of  suffering  and  of 
privation,  of  poverty  or  mediocrity  of  fortune,  of  sleepless 
nights,  grave  duties,  serious  aims ;  and  I  say  it  was  a  trial 
better  fitted  to  train  up  a  nation  "  in  true  wisdom,  virtue,  mag- 
nanimity, and  the  likeness  of  God,"  —  better  fitted  to  form 
temperate  habits,  strong  character,  resolute  spirits,  and  all  the 
radiant  train  of  public  and  private  virtues  which  stand  before 
the  stars  of  the  throne  of  liberty,  —  than  any  similar  period 
in  the  history  of  any  nation,  or  of  any  but  one,  that  ever 
existed. 

Some  seasons  there  were  of  sufferings  so  sharp  and  strange, 
that  they  might  seem  designed  to  test  the  energy  of  Puritan 
principles.  Such  was  the  summer  and  winter  after  Governor 
Winthrop's  arrival  in  New  England,  I67O-I67I.  Such  the 
winter  and  spring  after  the  arrival  of  the  Puritans  at  Ply- 
mouth, 1620-16^1.  They  wasted  away  —  young  and  old  of 
the  little  flock  —  of  consumption  and  fever  of  lungs  ;  the 
living  scarcely  able  to  bury  the  dead ;  the  well  not  enough  to 
tend  the  sick ;  men  who  landed  a  few  weeks  before  in  full 
strength,  their  bones  moistened  with  marrow,  were  seen  to 
stagger  and  fall  from  faintness  for  want  of  food.  In  a  coun- 
try abounding  in  secret  springs,  they  perished  for  want  of  a 
draught  of  good  water.     Childhood  drooped  and  died  away, 


THE   COLONIAL   AGE   OF   NEW   ENGLAND.  S63 

like  a  fiekl-flower  turned  up  by  the  ploughshare.  Old  age 
was  glad  to  gather  himself  to  his  last  sleep.  Some  sank 
down,  broken-hearted,  by  the  graves  of  beloved  wives  and 
sons.  Of  the  whole  one  hundred  and  one  who  landed  at 
Plymouth,  there  were  once  only  seven  able  to  render  assist- 
ance to  the  dying  and  the  sick. 

A  brilliant  English  writer,  speaking  of  the  Jews,  exclaims, 
with  surprise  and  indignation,  that  even  a  desert  did  not  make 
them  wise.  Our  fathers,  let  me  say,  not  vaingloriously,  were 
readier  learned  of  wisdom.  Their  sufferings  chastened,  puri- 
fied, and  elevated  them ;  and  led  them  to  repose  their  weary 
and  stricken  spirits  upon  the  strength  which  upholds  the  world. 
Thus  to  be  afflicted,  thus  to  profit  by  affliction,  is  good  for  a 
nation  as  it  is  good  for  a  man.  To  neither  is  it  joyous,  but 
grievous ;  to  both  it  is  all  made  up  over  and  over  again  by  a 
more  exceeding  weight  of  glory. 

Look  now,  passing  from  the  sufferings,  to  the  gigantic 
labors  of  our  Colonial  Age,  and  calculate  their  influence  on 
those  who  performed  them. 

The  first  great  work  of  the  earlier  generations  of  New 
England  was  to  reclaim  the  country,  to  fit  it  for  the  susten- 
tation  of  life  from  day  to  day,  from  season  to  season,  and 
thus  to  become  the  abode  of  an  intellectual  and  social  civiliza- 
tion advancing  indefinitely.  This  is  the  first  great  work  of  all 
nations,  who  begin  their  existence  in  a  country  not  before  the 
residence  of  cultivated  man.  The  nature  of  this  work,  —  the 
ease  and  difficulty  of  performing  it  depending  of  course  on 
the  great  natural  characteristics  of  the  region,  —  its  fertility, 
its  even  or  uneven  surface,  the  quality,  as  well  as  the  abun- 
dance or  scarcity  of  its  products,  the  brightness  and  dryness, 
or  gloom  and  moisture  of  its  skies,  its  cold  or  hot  tempera- 
ture, and  the  like,  —  the  nature  of  this  first  and  severest  of 
the  herculean  labors  of  nations,  perhaps  quite  as  much  as  any 
other  cause,  perhaps  as  much  as  all  other  causes,  affects  the 
moral  and  mental  character  and  habits  of  the  people  which 
have  it  to  do.  It  has  been  maintained,  and  with  great  inge- 
nuity, that  the  whole  subsequent  career  of  a  nation  has  taken 
impulse  and  direction,  from  the  circumstances  of  physical  con- 
dition in  which  it  came  first  into  life.     The  children  of  the 


g54  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

luxurious  East  opened  their  eyes  on  plains,  whose  fertility  a 
thousand  harvests  could  not  exhaust,  renewing-  itself  perpetu- 
ally from  the  bounty  of  a  prodigal  nature,  beneath  bright  suns, 
in  a  warm,  balmy  air,  which  floated  around  them  like  music 
and  perfumes  from  revels  on  the  banks  of  rivers  by  moonlight. 
"  Every  blast  shook  spices  from  the  leaves,  and  every  month 
dropped  fruits  upon  the  ground."  "  The  blessings  of  nature 
were  collected,  and  its  evils  extracted  and  excluded."  Hence 
the  immemorial  character  of  a  part  of  the  tribes  of  Asia. 
They  became  indolent,  effeminate,  and  timorous.  Steeped  in 
sensual  enjoyments,  the  mind  slept  with  the  body ;  or  if  it 
awoke,  unlike  the  reasoning,  speculative,  curious,  and  ener- 
getic intellect  of  Europe,  it  reposed  in  reverie ;  it  diffused 
itself  in  long  contemplation,  musing  rather  than  thinking, 
reading  human  destiny  in  the  stars,  but  making  no  effort  to 
comprehend  the  system  of  the  world.  Life  itself  there,  is  but 
a  fine  dream ;  and  death  is  only  a  scattering  of  the  garlands, 
a  hushing  of  the  music,  a  putting  out  of  the  lights  of  a  mid- 
summer night's  feast.  You  would  not  look  there  for  freedom, 
for  morality,  for  true  religion,  for  serious  reflections. 

The  destiny  of  the  most  of  Europe  was  different.  Vast 
forests  covering  half  a  continent,  rapid  and  broad  rivers,  cold 
winds,  long  winters,  large  tracts  unsusceptible  of  cultivation, 
snow-clad  mountains  on  whose  tops  the  lightning  plays  impas- 
sive,—  this  was  the  world  that  fell  to  their  lot.  And  hence 
partly,  that  race  is  active,  laborious,  curious,  intellectual,  full 
of  energy,  tending  to  freedom,  destined  to  freedom,  but  not 
yet  all  free. 

I  cannot  now  pause  to  qualify  this  view,  and  make  the 
requisite  discriminations  between  the  different  States  of  that 
quarter  of  the  world. 

To  the  tempest-tossed  and  weather-beaten,  yet  sanguine  and 
enthusiastic  spirits  who  came  hither,  New  England  hardly 
presented  herself  at  first  in  all  that  ruggedness  and  stern- 
est wildness  which  nature  has  impressed  indelibly  upon  her. 
But  a  few  summers  and  winters  revealed  the  whole  truth. 
They  had  come  to  a  country  fresh  from  the  hand  of  nature, 
almost  as  on  the  day  of  creation,  covered  vt'ith  primeval 
woods,  which  concealed  a  soil  not  very  fruitful  and  bearing 
only  the  hardier  and  coarser  grains  and  grasses,  broken  into 


THE   COLONIAL   AGE   OF   NEW  ENGLAND.  S65 

rocky  hills  and  mountains  sending-  their  gray  summits  to  the 
skies,  the  upland  levels,  with  here  and  there  a  strip  of  inter- 
val along  a  pleasant  river,  and  a  patch  of  salt-marsh  by  the 
side  of  the  sea,  —  a  country  possessing  and  producing  neither 
gold,  nor  diamonds,  nor  pearls,  nor  spices,  nor  opium,  nor 
bread-fruit,  nor  silks,  nor  the  true  vine,  —  to  a  long  and  cold 
winter,  an  uncertain  spring,  a  burning  summer,  and  autumn 
with  his  fleecy  clouds  and  bland  south-west,  red  and  yellow 
leaf  and  insidious  disease ;  —  such  was  the  ungenial  heaven 
beneath  which  their  lot  was  cast ;  such  was  New  England, 
yielding  nothing  to  idleness,  nothing  to  luxury,  but  yet  hold- 
ing out  to  faith  and  patience  and  labor,  freedom  and  skill,  and 
public  and  private  virtue, — holding  out  to  these  the  promise  of 
a  latter  day  afar  oft',  of  glory  and  honor  and  rational  and 
sober  enjoyment.  Such  was  the  country  in  which  the  rugged 
infancy  of  New  England  was  raised.  Such  was  the  country 
which  the  Puritans  were  appointed  to  transpose  into  a  meet 
residence  of  refinement  and  liberty.  You  know  how  they 
performed  that  duty.  Your  fathers  have  told  you.  From 
this  hill,  westward  and  southward,  and  eastward  and  north- 
ward, your  eyes  may  see  how  they  performed  it.  The  wilder- 
ness and  the  solitary  place  were  glad  for  them,  and  the  desert 
rejoiced  and  blossomed  as  the  rose.  The  land  was  a  desolate 
wilderness  before  them ;  behind  them,  as  the  garden  of  Eden. 
How  glorious  a  triumph  of  patience,  energy,  perseverance, 
intelligence,  and  faith  !  And  then  how  powerfully  and  in  how 
many  ways  must  the  fatigues,  privations,  interruptions,  and 
steady  advance  and  ultimate  completion  of  that  long  day's 
work  have  reacted  on  the  character  and  the  mind  of  those 
who  performed  it !  How  could  such  a  people  ever  again,  if 
ever  they  had  been,  be  idle,  or  frivolous,  or  giddy,  or  luxu- 
rious !  With  what  a  resistless  accession  of  momentum  must 
they  turn  to  every  new,  manly,  honest,  and  worthy  labor  ! 
How  truly  must  they  love  the  land  for  which  they  had  done 
so  much  !  How  ardently  must  they  desire  to  see  it  covered 
over  with  the  beauty  of  holiness  and  the  glory  of  freedom  as 
with  a  garment !  With  what  a  just  and  manly  self-appro- 
bation must  they  look  back  on  such  labors  and  such  success ; 
and  how  great  will  such  pride  make  any  people  ! 

There  was  another  great  work,  different  from  this,  and  more 

31* 


355  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

difficult,  more  glorious,  more  improving,  which  they  had  to 
do,  and  that  was  to  establish  their  system  of  colonial  govern- 
ment, to  frame  their  code  of  internal  law,  and  to  administer 
the  vast  and  perplexing  political  business  of  the  colonies  in 
their  novel  and  trying  relations  to  England,  through  the  whole 
Colonial  Age.  Of  all  their  labors  this  was  the  grandest,  the 
most  intellectual,  the  best  calculated  to  fit  them  for  indepen- 
dence. Consider  how  much  patient  thought,  how  much  ob- 
servation of  man  and  life,  how  much  sagacity,  how  much  com- 
munication of  mind  with  mind,  how  many  general  councils, 
plots,  and  marshalling  of  affairs,  how  much  slow  accumulation, 
how  much  careful  transmission  of  wisdom,  that  labor  demanded. 
And  what  a  school  of  civil  capacity  this  must  have  proved  to 
them  who  partook  in  it !  Hence,  I  think,  the  sober,  rational, 
and  practical  views  and  conduct  which  distinguished  even  the 
first  fervid  years  of  the  Revolutionary  age.  How  little  giddi- 
ness, rant,  and  foolery  do  you  see  there  !  No  riotous  and 
shouting  processions,  —  no  grand  festivals  of  the  goddess  of 
reason,  —  no  impious  dream  of  human  perfectibility,  —  no  un- 
loosing of  the  hoarded-up  passions  of  ages  from  the  restraints 
of  law,  order,  morality,  and  religion,  such  as  shamed  and 
frightened  away  the  new-born  liberty  of  revolutionary  France. 
Hence  our  victories  of  peace  were  more  brilliant,  more  benefi- 
cial, than  our  victories  of  war.  Hence  those  fair,  I  hope  ever- 
lasting, monuments  of  civil  wisdom,  our  State  and  Federal 
Constitutions.  Hence  the  coolness,  the  practised  facility,  the 
splendid  success,  with  which  they  took  up  and  held  the  whip 
and  reins  of  the  fiery  chariot  flying  through  the  zodiac,  after 
the  first  driver  had  been  stricken  by  the  thunder  from  his  seat. 
Do  you  not  think  it  was  a  merciful  appointment  that  our 
fathers  did  not  come  to  the  possession  of  independence,  and 
the  more  perfect  freedom  which  it  brought  with  it,  as  to  a 
great  prize  drawn  in  a  lottery,  —  an  independent  fortune  left  un- 
expectedly by  the  death  of  a  distant  relative  of  whom  they  had 
never  heard  before,  —  a  mine  of  gold  opened  just  below  the  sur- 
face on  the  side  of  the  hill  by  a  flash  of  lightning  ?  If  they 
had,  it  would  have  turned  their  heads  or  corrupted  their  habits. 
They  were  rather  in  the  condition  of  one  of  the  husbandmen 
of  old  Ipswich,  a  little  turned  of  one-and-twenty,  who  has  just 
paid  olf  the  last  legacy,  or  the  last  gage  upon  the  estate  left 


THE  COLONIAL  AGE  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


867 


him  by  his  father,  —  an  estate  where  his  childhood  played  with 
brothers  and  sisters  now  resting  in  early  graves,  in  which  the 
first  little  labors  of  his  young  hands  were  done,  from  which  he 
can  see  the  meeting-house  spire  above  the  old  intervening  elms, 
to  which  his  own  toil,  mingled  with  that  of  his  ancestors  of 
many  generations,  has  given  all  its  value,  which,  before  he  had 
owned,  he  had  learned  how  to  keep,  how  to  till,  how  to  trans- 
mit to  his  heirs  enlarged  and  enriched  with  a  more  scientific 
and  tasteful  cultivation. 

I  can  only  allude  to  one  other  labor,  one  other  trial  of  the 
Colonial  Age, —  the  wars  in  which  for  one  bundled  and  fifty 
years  our  fathers  w^ere  every  moment  engaged,  or  to  which 
they  were  every  moment  exposed,  and  leave  you  to  estimate 
the  influence  which  these  must  have  had  on  the  mind  and 
character,  and  at  last  on  the  grand  destinies  of  New  England 
and  of  North  America. 

It  is  dreadful  that  nations  must  learn  war  ;  but  since  they 
must,  it  is  a  mercy  to  be  taught  it  seasonably  and  thoroughly. 
It  had  been  appointed  by  the  Infinite  Disposer,  that  the  liber- 
ties, the  independence  of  the  States  of  America  should  depend 
on  the  manner  in  which  we  should  fight  for  them  ;  and  who 
can  imagine  what  the  issue  of  the  awfid  experiment  would 
have  been,  had  they  never  before  seen  the  gleam  of  an  enemy's 
bayonets,  or  heard  the  beat  of  his  drum  ? 

I  hold  it  to  have  been  a  great  thing,  in  the  first  place,  that 
we  had  among  us,  at  that  awful  moment  when  the  public  mind 
Wfls  meditating  the  question  of  submission  to  the  tea-tax,  or 
resistance  by  arms,  and  at  the  more  awful  moment  of  the  first 
appeal  to  arms,  —  that  we  had  some  among  us  who  personally 
knew  what  war  was.  Washington,  Putnam,  Stark,  Gates, 
Prescott,  Montgomery,  were  soldiers  already.  So  were  hun- 
dreds of  others  of  humbler  rank,  but  not  yet  forgotten  by  the 
people  whom  they  helped  to  save,  who  mustered  to  the  camp  of 
our  first  revolutionary  armies.  These  all  had  tasted  a  soldier's 
life.  They  had  seen  fire,  they  had  felt  the  thrilling  sensations, 
the  quickened  flow  of  blood  to  and  from  the  heart,  the  mingled 
apprehension  and  hope,  the  hot  haste,  the  burning-  thirst,  the 
feverish  rapture  of  battle,  which  he  who  has  not  felt  is  uncon- 
scious of  one  half  of  the  capacities  and  energies  of  his  nature, 
which  he  who  has  felt,  I  am  told,  never  forgets.     They  had 


358  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

slept  in  the  woods  on  the  withered  leaves  or  the  snow,  and 
awoke  to  hreakfast  upon  birch  bark  and  the  tender  tops  of 
willow  trees.  They  had  kept  guard  on  the  outposts  on  many 
a  stormy  night,  knowing  perfectly  that  the  thicket  half  a  pistol- 
shot  off,  was  full  of  French  and  Indian  riflemen. 

I  say  it  was  something  that  we  had  such  men  among 
us.  They  helped  discipline  our  raw  first  levies.  They  knew 
what  an  army  is,  and  what  it  needs,  and  how  to  provide  for 
it.  They  could  take  that  young  volunteer  of  sixteen  by  the 
hand,  sent  by  an  Ipswich  mother,  who,  after  looking  upon 
her  son  equipped  for  battle  from  which  he  might  not  return, 
Spartan-like,  bid  him  go  and  behave  like  a  man  —  and  many, 
many  such  shouldered  a  musket  for  Lexington  and  Bunker 
Hill  —  and  assure  him,  from  their  own  personal  knowledge, 
that  after  the  first  fire  he  never  would  know  fear  again, 
even  that  of  the  last  onset.  But  the  long  and  peculiar  wars 
of  New  England  had  done  more  than  to  furnish  a  few  such 
officers  and  soldiers  as  these.  They  had  formed  that  pub- 
lic sentiment  upon  the  subject  of  war  which  reunited  all  the 
armies,  fought  all  the  battles,  and  won  all  the  glory  of 
the  Revolution.  The  truth  is  that  war,  in  some  form  or 
another,  had  been,  from  the  first,  one  of  the  usages,  one 
of  the  habits,  of  colonial  life.  It  had  been  felt,  from  the 
first,  to  be  just  as  necessary  as  planting  or  reaping,  —  to 
be  as  likely  to  break  out  every  day  and  every  night  as  a 
thunder-shower  in  summer,  and  to  break  out  as  suddenly. 
There  have  been  nations  who  boasted  that  their  rivers  or 
mountains  never  saw  the  smoke  of  an  enemy's  camp.  Here 
the  war-whoop  awoke  the  sleep  of  the  cradle  ;  it  startled  the 
dying  man  on  his  pillow ;  it  summoned  young  and  old  from 
the  meeting-house,  from  the  burial,  and  from  the  bridal  cere- 
mony, to  the  strife  of  death.  The  consequence  was,  that  that 
steady,  composed,  and  reflecting  courage  which  belongs  to  all 
the  English  race  grew  into  a  leading  characteristic  of  New 
England  ;  and  a  public  sentiment  was  formed,  pervading  young 
and  old,  and  both  sexes,  which  declared  it  lawful,  necessary, 
and  honorable  to  risk  life,  and  to  shed  blood  for  a  great  cause, 
— for  our  family,  for  our  fires,  for  our  God,  for  our  country, 
for  our  religion.  In  such  a  cause  it  declared  that  the  voice  of 
God  Himself  commanded  to  the  field.     The  courage  of  New 


THE   COLONIAL   AGE    OF   NEW   ENGLAND.        S69 

England  was  the  "  courage  of  conscience."  It  did  not  rise  to 
that  insane  and  awful  passion, — the  love  of  war  for  itself.  It 
would  not  have  hurried  her  sons  to  the  Nile,  or  the  foot  of  the 
pyramids,  or  across  the  great  raging  sea  of  snows  which  rolled 
from  Smolensko  to  Moscow,  to  set  the  stars  of  glory  ujjon  the 
glowing  brow  of  ambition.  But  it  was  a  courage  which  at 
Lexington,  at  Bunker  Hill,  at  Bennington,  and  at  Saratoga, 
had  power  to  brace  the  spirit  for  the  patriots'  fight, —  and  glo- 
riously roll  back  the  tide  of  menaced  war  from  their  homes, 
the  soil  of  their  birth,  the  graves  of  their  fathers,  and  the 
everlasting  hills  of  their  freedom. 

But  I  cannot  any  farther  pursue  this  sketch  of  the  life  which 
tasked  the  youthful  spirit  of  New  England.  Other  labors 
there  were  to  be  done  ;  other  trials  to  pass  through ;  other 
influences  to  discipline  them  and  make  them  fit  for  the  rest 
which  remains  to  the  heirs  of  liberty. 

"  So  true  it  is  —  for  such  holy  rest, 
Strong  hands  must  toil  —  strong  hearts  endure." 

It  was  a  people  thus  schooled  to  the  love  and  attainments 
and  championship  of  freedom — its  season  of  infant  helplessness 
now  long  past,  the  strength  and  generosity  and  fire  of  a 
mighty  youth,  moving  its  limbs,  and  burning  in  its  eye  — 
a  people,  whose  bright  spirit  had  been  fed  midst  the  crowned 
heiglits,  with  hope  and  liberty  and  thoughts  of  power — 
this  was  the  people  whom  our  Revolution  summoned  to  the 
grandest  destiny  in  the  history  of  nations.  They  were 
summoned,  and  a  choice  put  before  them  :  slavery,  with 
present  ease  and  rest  and  enjoyment,  but  all  inglorious  — 
the  death  of  the  nation's  soul ;  and  liberty,  with  battle  and 
bloodshed,  but  the  spring  of  all  national  good,  of  art,  of  plenty, 
of  genius.  Liberty  born  of  the  skies  !  breathing  of  all  their 
odors,  and  radiant  with  all  their  hues !  They  were  bidden  to 
choose,  and  they  chose  wisely  and  greatly. 

They  linked  their  hands  —  they  pledged  their  stainless  faith 
In  the  dread  presence  of  attesting  Heaven  — 
They  bound  their  hearts  to  sufferings  and  death 
With  the  severe  and  solemn  transport  given 
To  bless  such  vows.     How  man  had  striven, 
How  man  might  strive,  and  vainly  strive  they  knew, 
And  called  upon  their  God. 

They  knelt,  and  rose  in  strength. 


370 


LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 


I  have  no  need  to  tell  you  the  story  of  the  Revolution,  if  the 
occasion  were  to  justify  it.  Some  of  you  shared  in  its  strife ; 
for  to  that,  as  to  every  other  great  duty,  Ipswich  was  more 
than  equal.  Some  who  have  not  yet  tasted  of  death,  some 
perhaps  even  now  here,  and  others  who  have  followed  or  who 
went  before  their  illustrious  La  Fayette.  All  of  you  partake 
of  its  fruits.     All  of  you  are  encompassed  about  by  its  glory  ! 

But  now  that  our  service  of  commemoration  is  ended,  let  us 
go  hence  and  meditate  on  all  that  it  has  taught  us.  You  see 
how  long  the  holy  and  beautiful  city  of  our  liberty  and  our 
power  has  been  in  building,  and  by  how  many  hands,  and  at  what 
cost.  You  see  the  towering  and  steadfast  height  to  which  it 
has  gone  up,  and  how  its  turrets  and  spires  gleam  in  the  rising 
and  setting  sun.  You  stand  among  the  graves  of  some — 
your  townsmen,  your  fathers  by  blood,  whose  names  you  bear, 
whose  portraits  hang  up  in  your  homes,  of  whose  memory  you 
are  justly  proud  —  who  helped  in  their  day  to  sink  those  walls 
deep  in  their  beds,  where  neither  frost  nor  earthquake  might 
heave  them, — to  raise  aloft  those  great  arches  of  stone, — to  send 
up  those  turrets  and  spires  into  the  sky.  It  was  theirs  to 
build;  remember  it  is  yours,  under  Providence,  to  keep  the 
city,  —  to  keep  it  from  the  sword  of  the  invader,  —  to  keep  it 
from  licentiousness  and  crime  and  irreligion,  and  all  that  would 
make  it  unsafe  or  unfit  to  live  in, — to  keep  it  from  the  fires  of 
faction,  of  civil  strife,  of  party  spirit,  that  might  burn  up  in  a 
day  the  slow  work  of  a  thousand  years  of  glory.  Happy,  if 
we  shall  so  perform  our  duty  that  they  who  centuries  hence 
shall  dwell  among  our  graves  may  be  able  to  remember,  on 
some  such  day  as  this,  in  one  common  service  of  grateful 
commemoration,  their  fathers  of  the  first  and  of  the  second  ?Lge 
of  America, —  those  who  through  martyrdom  and  tempest  and 
battle  sought  liberty,  and  made  her  their  own, —  and  those 
whom  neither  ease  nor  luxury,  nor  the  fear  of  man,  nor  the 
worship  of  man,  could  prevail  on  to  barter  her  away ! 


THE     AGE     OF     THE     PILGRIMS     THE     HEROIC 
PERIOD     OF     OUR     HISTORY: 

.  AN  ADDRESS   DELIVERED  IN  NEW  YORK   BEFORE   THE  NEW-ENGLAND   ASSOCIATION, 

DECEMBER,   1843. 


We  meet  again,  the  children  of  the  Pilgrims,  to  remember 
our  fathers.  Away  from  the  scenes  with  which  the  American 
portions  of  their  history  are  associated  forever,  and  in  all  men's 
minds,  —  scenes  so  unadorned,  yet  clothed  to  the  moral  eye  with 
a  charm  above  the  sphere  of  taste:  the  uncrumbled  rock,  tlie 
hill  from  whose  side  those  "  delicate  springs  "  are  still  gushing, 
the  wide,  brown,  low  woods,  the  sheltered  harbor,  the  little 
island  that  welcomed  them  in  their  frozen  garments  from  the 
sea,  and  witnessed  the  rest  and  worship  of  that  Sabbath-day 
before  their  landing, —  away  from  all  those  scenes,  —  without 
the  limits  of  the  fond  old  colony  that  keeps  their  graves,  with- 
out the  limits  of  the  New  England  which  is  their  wider  burial 
place  and  fitter  monument, — in  the  heart  of  this  chief  city  of 
the  nation  into  which  the  feeble  land  has  grown,  —  we  meet 
again,  to  repeat  their  names  one  by  one,  to  retrace  the  lines  of 
their  character,  to  recall  the  lineaments  and  forms  over  which 
the  grave  has  no  power,  to  appreciate  their  virtues,  to  recount 
the  course  of  their  life  full  of  heroic  deeds,  varied  by  sharpest 
trials,  crowned  by  transcendent  consequences,  to  assert  the 
directness  of  our  descent  from  such  an  ancestry  of  goodness 
and  greatness,  to  erect,  refresh,  and  touch  our  spirits  by  com- 
ing for  an  hour  into  their  more  immediate  presence,  such  as 
they  were  in  the  days  of  their  human  "agony  of  glory."  The 
two  centuries  which  interpose  to  hide  them  from  our  eye,  cen- 
turies so  brilliant  with  progress,  so  crowded  by  incidents,  so 
fertile  in  accumulations,  dissolve  away  for  the  moment  as  a 
curtain  of  clouds,  and  we  are  once  more  by  their  side.     The 


372 


LECTURES    AND   ADDRESSES. 


grand  and  pathetic  series  of  their  story  unrolls  itself  around 
us,  vivid  as  if  with  the  life  of  yesterday.  All  the  stages,  all 
the  agents,  of  the  process  by  which  they  and  the  extraordinary 
class  they  belonged  to,  were  slowly  formed  from  the  general 
mind  and  character  of  England ;  the  influence  of  the  age  of 
the  Reformation,  with  which  the  whole  Christian  world  was 
astir  to  its  profoundest  depths  and  outermost  limits,  but  which 
was  poured  out  unbounded  and  peculiar  on  them,  its  chil- 
dren, its  impersonation ;  that  various  persecution  prolonged 
through  two  hundred  years  and  twelve  reigns,  from  the  time 
of  the  preaching  of  Wickliff'e,  to  the  accession  of  James  the 
First,  from  which  they  gathered  sadly  so  many  precious  fruits, — 
a  large  measure  of  tenderness  of  conscience,  the  sense  of  duty, 
force  of  will,  trust  in  God,  the  love  of  truth,  and  the  spirit  of 
liberty ;  the  successive  development  and  growth  of  opinions 
and  traits  and  determinations  and  fortunes,  by  which  they 
were  advanced  from  Protestants  to  Republicans,  from  En- 
glishmen to  Pilgrims,  from  Pilgrims  to  the  founders  of  a 
free  Church,  and  the  fathers  of  a  free  people  in  a  new  world ; 
the  retirement  to  Holland  ;  the  resolution  to  seek  the  sphere 
of  their  duties  and  the  asylum  of  their  rights  beyond  the  sea ; 
the  embarkation  at  Delft  Haven, — that  scene  of  interest  unri- 
valled, on  which  a  pencil  of  your  own  has  just  enabled  us  to 
look  back  with  tears,  praise,  and  sympathy,  and  the  fond  pride 
of  children ;  that  scene  of  few  and  simple  incidents,  just  the  set- 
ting out  of  a  handful  of  not  then  very  famous  persons  on  a  voy- 
age,— quite  the  commonest  of  occurrences,  —  but  which  dilates 
as  you  gaze  on  it,  and  speaks  to  you  as  with  the  voices  of  an 
immortal  song ;  which  becomes  idealized  into  the  auspicious 
going  forth  of  a  colony,  whose  planting  has  changed  the  his- 
tory of  the  world, — a  noble  colony  of  devout  Christians,  edu- 
cated and  firm  men,  valiant  soldiers,  and  honorable  women  ; 
a  colony  on  the  commencement  of  whose  heroic  enterprise  the 
selectest  influences  of  religion  seemed  to  be  descending  visibly, 
and  beyond  whose  perilous  path  are  hung  the  rainbow  and  the 
westward  star  of  empire ;  the  voyage  of  The  Mayflower ;  the 
landing  ;  the  slow  winter's  night  of  disease  and  famine  in 
which  so  many,  the  good,  the  beautiful,  the  brave  sunk  down 
and  (bed,  giving  ])lace  at  last  to  the  spring-dawn  of  health  and 
plenty  ;  the  meeting  with  the  old  red  race  on  the  hill  beyond 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS  OUR  HEROIC  PERIOD,    g^g 

the  brook  ;  the  treaty  of  peace  unbroken  for  half  a  century ; 
the  organization  of  a  repubhcan  government  in  The  Mayflower 
cabin  ;  the  planting  of  these  kindred  and  coeval  and  auxiliar 
institutions,  without  which  such  a  government  can  no  more  live 
than  the  uprooted  tree  can  put  forth  leaf  or  flower  ;  institutions 
to  diffuse  pure  religion  ;  good  learning  ;  austere  morality ;  the 
practical  arts  of  administration  ;  labor,  patience,  obedience ; 
"  plain  living  and  high  thinking  ;  "  the  securities  of  conserva- 
tism ;  the  germs  of  progress  ;  the  laying  deep  and  sure,  far 
down  on  the  rock  of  ages,  of  the  foundation  stones  of  the  im- 
perial structure,  whose  dome  now  swells  towards  heaven ;  the 
timely  death  at  last,  one  after  another,  of  the  first  generation 
of  the  original  Pilgrims,  not  unvisited  as  the  final  hour  drew 
nigh,  by  visions  of  the  more  visible  glory  of  a  latter  day,  — 
all  these  high,  holy,  and  beautiful  things  come  thronging  fresh 
on  all  our  memories,  beneath  the  influence  of  the  hour.  Such 
as  we  heard  them  from  our  mothers'  lips,  such  as  we  read 
them  in  the  histories  of  kings,  of  religions,  and  of  liberty,  they 
gather  themselves  about  us ;  familiar,  certainly,  but  of  an  in- 
terest that  can  never  die, — an  interest  intrinsical  in  themselves, 
yet  heightened  inexpressibly  by  their  relations  to  that  eventful 
future  into  which  they  have  expanded,  and  through  whose 
lights  they  show. 

And  yet,  with  all  this  procession  of  events  and  persons  mov- 
ing before  us,  and  solicited  this  way  and  that  by  the  innu- 
merable trains  of  speculation  and  of  feeling  which  such  a  sight 
inspires,  we  can  think  of  nothing  and  of  nobody,  here  and  now, 
but  the  Pilgrims  themselves.  I  cannot,  and  do  not,  wish  for  a 
moment  to  forget,  that  it  is  their  festival  we  have  come  to  keep. 
It  is  their  tabernacles  we  have  come  to  build.  It  is  not  the 
Reformation,  it  is  not  colonization,  it  is  not  ourselves,  our 
present  or  our  future,  it  is  not  political  economy,  or  political 
philosophy,  of  which  to-day  you  would  have  me  say  a  word. 
We  have  a  specific  and  single  duty  to  perform.  We  would 
speak  of  certain  valiant,  good,  and  peculiar  men,  our  fathers. 
We  would  wipe  the  dust  from  a  few  old,  plain,  noble  urns. 
We  would  shun  husky  disquisitions,  irrelevant  novelties,  and 
small  display ;  would  recall  rather  and  merely  the  forms  and 
lineaments  of  the  heroic  dead, — forms  and  features  which  the 
grave  has  not  changed,  over  which  the  grave  has  no  power. 

VOL.  I.  32 


374^ 


LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 


The  Pilgrims,  then,  of  the  first  generation,  just  as  they  landed 
on  the  rock,  are  the  topic  of  the  hour.  And  in  order  to  in- 
sure some  degree  of  unity,  and  of  definiteness  of  aim,  and  of 
impression,  let  me  still  more  precisely  propound  as  the  subject 
of  our  thoughts,  the  Pilgrims,  their  age  and  their  acts,  as  con- 
stituting a  real  and  a  true  heroic  period  ;  one  heroic  period  in 
the  history  of  this  Republic. 

I  regard  it  as  a  great  thing  for  a  nation  to  be  able,  as  it 
passes  through  one  sign  after  another  of  its  zodiac  pathway, 
in  prosperity,  in  adversity,  and  at  all  times, —  to  be  able  to  look 
to  an  authentic  race  of  founders,  and  a  historical  principle  of 
institution,  in  which  it  may  rationally  admire  the  realized  idea  of 
true  heroism.      Whether  it  looks  back  in  the  morning  or  evening 
of  its  day  ;   whether  it  looks  back  as  now  we  do,  in  the  emu- 
lous fervor  of  its  youth,  or  in  the  full  strength  of  manhood,  its 
breasts  full  of  milk,  its  bones  moistened  with  marrow  ;   or  in 
dotage   and  faintness,  the   silver  cord  of  union  loosened,  the 
golden  bowl  of  fame  and  power  broken  at  the  fountain  ;  from 
the  era  of  Pericles  or  the  era  of  Plutarch, —  it  is  a  great  and 
precious  thing  to  be  able  to  ascend  to,  and  to  repose  its  stren- 
uous or  its  wearied  virtue  upon,  a  heroic  age  and  a  heroic  race, 
which  it  may  not  falsely  call  its  own.      I  mean  by  a  heroic  age 
and  race,  not  exclusively  or  necessarily  the  earliest  national  age 
and  race,  but  one,  the  course  of  whose  history  and  the  traits 
of  whose  character,  and  the  extent  and  permanence  of  whose 
influences,  are  of  a  kind  and  power  not  merely  to  be  recog- 
nized in  after  time  as  respectable  or  useful,  but  of  a  kind  and 
a  power  to  kindle  and  feed  the  moral-  imagination,  move  the 
capacious  heart,  and  justify  the  intelligent  wonder  of  the  world. 
I  mean  by  a  nation's  heroic  age,  a  time  distinguished  above 
others,  not  by  chronological  relation  alone,  but  by  a  concur- 
rence of  grand  and  impressive  agencies  with  large  results, —  by 
some   splendid   and  remarkable   triumph   of  man   over   some 
great  enemy,  some  great  evil,  some  great  labor,  some  great 
danger,  —  by  uncommon  examples   of  the   rarer  virtues  and 
qualities,  tried  by  an  exigency  that  occurs  only  at  the  begin- 
ning of  new  epochs,  the  ascension  of  new  dynasties  of  domin- 
ion or  liberty,  when  the  great  bell  of  time  sounds  out  another 
hour.     I  mean  an  age  when  extraordinary  traits  are  seen,  an 
age  performing  memorable  deeds   whereby  a  whole  people, 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS  OUR  HEROIC  PERIOD.    Q^5 

whole  generations,  are  made  different  and  made  better.  I  mean 
an  age  and  race  to  which  the  arts  may  go  back,  and  find  real 
historical  forms  and  groups,  wearing  the  port  and  grace,  and 
going  on  the  errand  of  demi-gods,  —  an  age  far  off,  on  whose 
moral  landscape  the  poet's  eye  may  light,  and  reproduce  a 
grandeur  and  beauty  stately  and  eternal,  transcending  that  of 
ocean  in  storm  or  at  peace,  or  of  mountains,  staying  as  with  a 
charm  the  morning  star  in  his  steep  course,  or  the  twilight  of  a 
summer's  day,  or  voice  of  solemn  bird,  —  an  age  "  doctrinal  and 
exemplary,"  from  whose  personages,  and  from  whose  actions, 
the  orator  may  bring  away  an  incident,  or  a  thought,  that  shall 
kindle  a  fire  in  ten  thousand  hearts,  as  on  altars  to  their  coun- 
try's glory ;  and  to  which  the  discouraged  teachers  of  patriotism 
and  morality  to  corrupted  and  expiring  States,  may  resort  for 
examples  how  to  live  and  how  to  die. 

You  see,  then,  that  certain  peculiar  conditions  and  elements 
must  meet  to  make  a  heroic  period  and  a  heroic  race.  You 
might  call,  without  violence,  the  men  who  brought  on  and  went 
through  the  war  of  Independence,  or  fell  on  the  high  places  of 
its  fields,  —  you  might  call  them  and  their  times  heroic.  But 
you  would  not  so  describe  the  half-dozen  years  from  the  peace 
to  the  Constitution,  nor  the  wise  men  who  framed  that  writ- 
ing, nor  the  particular  generation  that  had  the  sagacity  and 
the  tone  to  adopt  it.  Yet  was  this  a  grander  achievement 
than  many  a  Yorktown,  many  a  Saratoga,  many  a  Eutaw 
Springs  ;  and  this,  too,  in  some  just  sense  was  the  beginning 
of  a  national  experience.  To  justify  the  application  of  this 
epithet,  there  must  be  in  it  somewhat  in  the  general  character 
of  a  period,  and  the  character  and  fortunes  of  its  actors,  to 
warm  the  imagination,  and  to  touch  the  heart.  There  must, 
therefore,  be  some  of  the  impressive  forms  of  danger  there  ; 
there  must  be  the  reality  of  suffering,  borne  with  the  dignity  of 
an  unvanquished  soul ;  there  must  be  pity  and  terror  in  the 
epic,  as  in  the  tragic  volume  ;  there  must  be  a  great  cause, 
acting  on  a  conspicuous  stage,  or  swelling  towards  an  imperial 
consummation ;  some  great  interest  of  humanity  must  be 
pleading  there  on  fields  of  battle,  or  in  the  desert,  or  on  the 
sea  ! 

When  these  constituents,  or  such  as  these,  concur,  there  is 
a  heroic  time  and  race.     Other  things  are  of  small  account. 


376 


LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 


It  may  be  an  age  of  rude  manners.  Prominent  men  may 
cook  their  own  suppers,  like  Achilles,  yet  how  many  millions 
of  imaginations,  besides  Alexander's,  have  trembled  at  his 
anger,  shuddered  at  his  revenge,  sorrowed  with  his  griefs, 
kindled  with  his  passion  of  glory,  melted  as  he  turns  gently 
and  kindly  from  the  tears  of  Priam,  childless,  or  bereaved  of 
his  dearest  and  bravest  by  his  unmatched  arm ;  —  divine  faces, 
like  that  of  Rose  Standish  in  the  picture,  may  look  out,  as 
hers  there  does,  not  from  the  worst  possible  head-dress ;  men 
may  have  worn  steeple-crowned  hats,  and  long,  peculiar  beards ; 
they  may  have  been  austere,  formal,  intolerant;  they  may 
have  themselves  possessed  not  one  ray  of  fancy,  not  one  emo- 
tion of  taste,  not  one  susceptibility  to  the  grace  and  sublimity 
that  there  are  in  nature  and  genius ;  yet  may  their  own  lives 
and  deaths  have  been  a  whole  Iliad  in  action,  grander,  sweeter, 
of  more  mournful  pathos,  of  more  purifying  influences,  than 
anything  yet  sung  by  old  or  modern  bard,  in  hall  or  bower. 
See,  then,  if  we  can  find  any  of  the  constituents  of  such  a 
period,  in  the  character,  time,  and  fortunes  of  the  Pilgrims. 

"  Plantations,"  says  Lord  Bacon,  "  are  amongst  ancient, 
primitive,  and  heroical  works."  But  he  is  thinking  of  planta- 
tions as  they  are  the  king's  works,  like  parks  or  palaces,  or 
solemn  temples,  or  steadfast  pyramids,  as  they  show  forth  the 
royal  mind,  and  heighten  the  royal  glory.  We  are  to  seek  the 
heroical  ingredient  in  the  planter  himself,  in  the  ends  for 
which  he  set  forth,  the  difficulties  with  which  he  contended, 
the  triumphs  which  he  won,  the  teeming  harvest,  sprung  from 
seed  sown  with  his  tears.     And  we  shall  find  it  there. 

It  would  be  interesting,  if  it  were  possible,  which  it  is  not, 
to  pause  for  a  moment  first,  and  survey  the  old  English  Puri- 
tan character,  of  which  the  Pilgrims  were  a  variety.  Turn 
to  the  class  of  which  they  were  part,  and  consider  it  well  for  a 
minute  in  all  its  aspects.  I  see  in  it  an  extraordinary  mental 
and  moral  phenomenon.  Many  more  graceful  and  more  win- 
ning forms  of  the  human  nature  there  have  been,  and  are,  and 
shall  be.  Many  men,  many  races  there  are,  have  been,  and 
shall  be,  of  more  genial  dispositions,  more  tasteful  accomplish- 
ment, a  quicker  eye  for  the  beautiful  of  art  and  nature ;  less 
disagreeably  absorbed,  less  gloomily  careful  and  troubled  about 
the  mighty  interests  of  the  spiritual  being  or  of  the  common- 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS  OUR  HEROIC  PERIOD.    3*^7 

wealth ;  wearing  a  more  decorated  armor  in  battle ;  contrib- 
uting more  wit,  more  song,  and  heartier  potations,  to  the 
garland  feast  of  Hfe.  But  wliere,  in  the  long  series  of  ages 
that  furnish  the  matter  of  history,  was  there  ever  one  —  where 
one  —  better  fitted  by  the  possession  of  the  highest  traits  of 
man  to  do  the  noblest  work  of  man,  —  better  fitted  to  con- 
summate and  establish  the  Reformation,  save  the  English  con- 
stitution at  its  last  gasp  from  the  fate  of  all  other  European 
constitutions,  and  prepare  on  the  granite  and  iced  mountain- 
summits  of  the  New  World,  a  still  safer  rest,  for  a  still  better 
liberty  \ 

I  can  still  less  pause  to  trace  the  history  of  these  men  as  a 
body,  or  even  to  enumerate  the  succession  of  influences  —  the 
spirit  of  the  Reformation  within,  two  hundred  years  of  civil 
and  spiritual  tyranny  without  —  which,  between  the  preaching 
of  Wickliffe  and  the  accession  of  James  I.,  had  elaborated 
them  out  of  the  general  mind  of  England ;  had  attracted 
to  their  ranks  so  much  of  what  was  wisest  and  best  of 
their  nation  and  time ;  had  cut  and  burned,  as  it  were, 
into  their  natures  the  iron  quality  of  the  higher*heroism, — 
and  so  accomplished  them  for  their  great  work  there  and 
here.  The  whole  story  of  the  cause  and  the  effect  is  told  in 
one  of  their  own  illustrations  a  little  expanded :  "  Puritanism 
was  planted  in  the  region  of  storms,  and  there  it  grew. 
Swayed  this  way,  and  that,  by  a  whirlwind  of  blasts  all 
adverse,  it  sent  down  its  roots  below  frost,  or  drought,  or 
the  bed  of  the  avalanche ;  its  trunk  went  up,  erect,  gnarled, 
seamed,  not  riven  by  the  bolt ;  the  evergreen  enfolded  its 
branches ;  its  blossom  was  like  to  that  '  ensanguined  flower 
inscribed  with  woe.'  " 

One  influence  there  was,  however,  I  would  mark,  whose 
permanent  and  various  agency  on  the  doctrines,  the  character, 
and  the  destinies  of  Puritanism,  is  among  the  most  striking 
things  in  the  whole  history  of  opinion.  I  mean  its  contact 
with  the  republican  reformers  of  the  continent,  and  particu- 
larly with  those  of  Geneva. 

In  all  its  stages,  certainly  down  to  the  peace  of  Westphalia, 
in  164*8,  all  the  disciples  of  the  Reformation,  wherever  they 
lived,  were  in  some  sense  a  single  brotherhood,  whom  diversity 
of  speech,  hostility  of  governments,  and  remoteness  of  place, 

32* 


g'78  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

could  not  wholly  keep  apart.  Local  persecutions  drew  the 
tie  closer.  In  the  reign  of  Mary,  from  1.558  to  1558,  a 
thousand  learned  Englishmen  fled  from  the  stake  at  home,  to 
the  happier  states  of  continental  Protestantism.  Of  these, 
great  numbers,  I  know  not  how  many,  came  to  Geneva. 
There  they  awaited  the  death  of  the  Queen  ;  and  then,  sooner 
or  later,  but  in  the  time  of  Elizabeth,  went  back  to  England. 

I  ascribe  to  that  five  years  in  Geneva  an  influence  which 
has  changed  the  history  of  the  \A'orld.  I  seem  to  myself  to 
trace  to  it,  as  an  influence  on  the  English  race,  a  new  theol- 
ogy ;  new  politics  ;  another  tone  of  character ;  the  opening  of 
another  era  of  time  and  of  liberty.  I  seem  to  myself  to  trace  to 
it  the  great  civil  war  of  England ;  the  Republican  Constitu- 
tion framed  in  the  cabin  of  The  Mayflower ;  the  divinity  of 
Jonathan  Edwards ;  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill ;  the  Indepen- 
dence of  America.  In  that  brief  season,  English  Puritanism 
was  changed  fundamentally,  and  forever.  Why  should  we 
think  this  extraordinary  ?  There  are  times  when  whole  years 
pass  over  the  head  of  a  man,  and  work  no  change  of  mind  at 
all.  There  are  others  again,  when,  in  an  hour,  old  things  pass 
away,  and  all  things  become  new  !  A  verse  of  the  Bible ;  a 
glorious  line  of  some  old  poet,  dead  a  thousand  years  before ; 
the  new-made  grave  of  a  child ;  a  friend  killed  by  a  thunder- 
bolt ;  some  single,  more  intolerable  pang  of  despised  love ; 
some  more  intolerable  act  of  "  the  oppressor's  wrong,  the 
proud  man's  contumely ; "  a  gleam  of  rarer  beauty  on  a  lake, 
or  in  the  sky  ;  something  slighter  than  the  fall  of  a  leaf,  or  a 
bird's  song  on  the  shore, — transforms  him  as  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye.  When,  before  or  since,  in  the  history  of  the  world, 
was  the  human  character  subjected  to  an  accumulation  of 
agents,  so  fitted  to  create  it  all  anew,  as  those  which  encom- 
passed the  English  exiles  at  Geneva  1 

I  do  not  make  much  account  in  this,  of  the  material  gran- 
deur and  beauty  which  burst  on  their  astonished  senses  there, 
as  around  the  sohtude  of  Patmos,^ — although  I  cannot  say  that 
I  know,  or  that  anybody  knows,  that  these  mountain  summits, 
ascending  "  from  their  silent  sea  of  pines,"  higher  than  the 
thunder  cloud,  reposing  among  their  encircling  stars,  while 
the  storm  sweeps  by  below,  before  which  navies,  forests,  the 
cathedral    tombs  of   kings,  go    down,    all    on   fire    with    the 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS  OUR  HEROIC  PERIOD,    g'yg 

rising  and  descending  glory  of  the  sun,  wearing  his  rays  as  a 
crown,  unchanged,  unsealed ;  the  contrasted  lake;  the  arrowy 
Rhone  and  all  his  kindred  torrents;  the  embosomed  city, —  I 
cannot  say  that  these  things  have  no  power  to  touch  and 
fashion  the  nature  of  man.  I  cannot  say  that  in  the  leisure 
of  exile,  a  cultivated  and  pious  mhul,  opened,  softened,  tinged 
with  a  long  sorrow,  haunted  by  a  brooding  apprehension,  per- 
plexed by  mysterious  providences,  waiting  for  the  unravelling 
of  the  awful  drama  in  England,  —  a  mind,  if  such  there  were, 
like  Luther's,  like  Milton's,  like  Zwingle's,  might  not  find 
itself  stayed,  and  soothed,  and  carried  upward,  at  some  even- 
ing hour,  by  these  great  symbols  of  a  duration  without  an  end, 
and  a  throne  above  the  sky.  I  cannot  say  that  such  an  im- 
pression might  not  be  deepened  by  a  renewed  view,  until  the 
outward  glory  reproduced  itself  in  the  inward  strength;  or 
until 

"  The  dilating  soul,  enwrapt,  transfused, 
Into  the  mighty  vision  passing  there, 
As  in  her  natural  form,  swelled  vast  to  heaven." 

Nobody  can  say  that. 

It  is  of  the  moral  agents  of  change  that  I  would  speak.  I 
pass  over  the  theology  which  they  learned  there,  to  remark  on 
the  politics  which  they  learned.  The  asylum  into  which  they 
had  been  admitted,  the  city  which  had  opened  its  arms  to  pious, 
learned  men,  banished  by  the  tyranny  of  an  English  throne 
and  an  English  hierarchy,  was  a  republic.  In  the  giant  hand 
of  guardian  mountains,  on  the  banks  of  a  lake  lovelier  than  a 
dream  of  the  Fairy  Land,  in  a  valley  which  might  seem  hollowed 
out  to  enclose  the  last  home  of  liberty,  there  smiled  an  inde- 
pendent, peaceful,  law-abiding,  well-governed,  and  prosperous 
commonwealth.  There  was  a  state  without  king  or  nobles ; 
there  was  a  church  without  a  bishop  ;  there  was  a  people  gov- 
erned by  grave  magistrates  which  it  had  selected,  and  equal 
laws  which  it  had  framed.  And  to  the  eye  of  these  exiles, 
bruised  and  pierced  through  by  the  accumulated  oppressions  of 
a  civil  and  spiritual  tyranny,  to  whom  there  came  tidings  every 
day  from  England  that  another  victim  had  been  struck  down,  on 
whose  still  dear  home  in  the  sea,  every  day  a  gloomier  shadow 
seemed  to  fall  from  the  frowning  heights  of  power,  was  not 
that  republic  the  brightest  image  in  the  whole   transcendent 


S80  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

scene  ?  Do  you  doubt  that  they  turned  from  Alpine  beauty 
and  Alpine  grandeur,  to  look  with  a  loftier  emotion,  for  the 
first  time  in  their  lives,  on  the  serene,  unveiled  statue  of  classi- 
cal Liberty  1  Do  you  not  think  that  this  spectacle,  in  these 
circumstances,  prompted  in  such  minds  pregnant  doubts,  dar- 
ing hopes,  new  ideas,  thoughts  that  wake  to  perish  never, 
doubts,  hopes,  ideas,  thoughts,  of  which  a  new  age  is  born  1 
Was  it  not  then  and  there  that  the  dream  of  republican  liberty 
—  a  dream  to  be  realized  somewhere,  perhaps  in  England, 
perhaps  in  some  region  of  the  Western  sun  —  first  mingled 
itself  with  the  general  impulses,  the  garnered  hopes  of  the 
Reformation  ?  Was  that  dream  ever  let  go,  down  to  the  morn- 
ing of  that  day  when  the  Pilgrims  met  in  the  cabin  of  their 
shattered  bark,  and  there,  as  she  rose  full  on  the  stern  New 
England  sea,  and  the  voices  of  the  November  forest  rang 
through  her  torn  topmast  rigging,  subscribed  the  first  republi- 
can constitution  of  the  New  World  ?  I  confess  myself  of  the 
opinion  of  those  who  trace  to  this  spot,  and  that  time,  the  Re- 
publicanism of  the  Puritans.  I  do  not  suppose,  of  course,  that 
they  went  back  with  the  formal  design  to  change  the  govern- 
ment of  England.  The  contests  and  the  progress  of  seventy 
years  more  were  required,  to  mature  and  realize  so  vast  a  con- 
ception as  tliat.  I  do  not  suppose,  either,  that  learned  men, — 
students  of  antiquity,  the  readers  of  Aristotle  and  Thucydides 
and  Cicero,  the  contemporaries  of  Buchanan,  the  friends  of 
his  friend,  John  Knox,  —  needed  to  go  to  Geneva  to  acquire 
the  idea  of  a  commonwealth.  But  there  they  saw  the  prob- 
lem solved.  Popular  government  was  possible.  The  ancient 
prudence  and  the  modern,  the  noble  and  free  genius  of  the 
old  Paganism  and  the  Christianity  of  the  Reformation,  law 
and  liberty,  might  be  harmoniously  blended  in  living  systems. 
This  experience  they  never  forgot. 

I  confess,  too,  that  I  love  to  trace  the  pedigree  of  our  trans- 
atlantic liberty,  thus  backwards  through  Switzerland,  to  its 
native  land  of  Greece.  I  think  this  the  true  line  of  succession, 
down  which  it  has  been  transmitted.  There  was  a  liberty 
which  the  Puritans  found,  kept,  and  improved  in  England. 
They  would  have  changed  it,  and  were  not  able.  But  that 
was  a  kind  wliich  admitted  and  demanded  an  inequality  of 
many  ;  a  subordination  of  ranks ;  a  favored   eldest  son  ;    the 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS  OUR  HEROIC  PERIOD,    ggl 

ascending-  orders  of  a  hierarchy ;  the  vast  and  constant  pres- 
sure of  a  superincumbent  cro^^^l.  It  was  the  lil)erty  of 
feudahsm.  It  was  the  hberty  of  a  Hniited  monarchy,  over- 
hung and  shaded  by  the  imposing  architecture  of  great  antag- 
onistic elements  of  the  state.  Such  was  not  the  form  of  Hberty 
which  our  fathers  brouglit  with  them.  Allowing,  of  course, 
for  that  anomalous  tie  which  connected  them  with  the  Eng- 
lish crown  three  thousand  miles  off,  it  was  republican  freedom, 
as  perfect  the  moment  they  stepped  on  the  rock  as  it  is  to-day. 
It  had  not  been  all  born  in  the  woods  of  Germany ;  by  the 
Elbe  or  Eyder ;  or  the  plains  of  Runnymede.  It  was  the 
child  of  other  climes  and  days.  It  sprang  to  life  in  Greece. 
It  gilded  next  the  early  and  the  middle  age  of  Italy.  It  then 
reposed  in  the  hallowed  breast  of  the  Alps.  It  descended  at 
length  on  the  iron-bound  coast  of  New  England,  and  set  the 
stars  of  glory  there.  At  every  stage  of  its  course,  at  every 
reappearance,  it  was  guarded  by  some  new  security  ;  it  was 
embodied  in  some  new  element  of  order  ;  it  was  fertile  in 
some  larger  good ;  it  glowed  with  a  more  exceeding  beauty. 
Speed  its  way  ;  perfect  its  nature  ! 

'm 
Take,  Freedom  !  take  thy  radiant  round, 

When  dimmed  revive,  when  lost  retlirn, 

Till  not  a  shrine  through  earth  be  found, 

On  which  thy  glories  shall  not  burn. 

Thus  were  laid  the  foundations  of  the  mind  and  character 
of  Puritanism.  Thus,  slowly,  by  the  breath  of  the  spirit  of 
the  age,  by  the  influence  of  undefiled  religion,  by  freedom  of 
the  soul,  by  much  tribulation,  by  a  wider  survey  of  man,  na- 
ture, and  human  life,  it  was  trained  to  its  work  of  securing  and 
improving  the  liberty  of  England,  and  giving  to  America  a 
better  liberty  of  her  own.  Its  day  over,  and  its  duty  done,  it 
was  resolved  into  its  elements,  and  disappeared  among  the 
common  forms  of  humanity,  apart  from  which  it  had  acted 
and  suffered,  above  which  it  had  to  move,  out  of  which  by 
a  long  process  it  had  been  elaborated.  Of  this  stock  were  the 
Pilgrim  Fathers.  They  came  of  heroical  companionship. 
Were  their  works  heroical  \ 

The  planting  of  a  colony  in  a  new  world,  which  may 
grow,  and  which  does  grow,  to  a  great  nation,  where  there 
was  none  before,  is  intrinsically,  and  in  the  judgment  of  the 


382  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

world,  of  the  largest  order  of  human  achievement.  Of  the 
chief  of  men  are  the  conditores  imperiormn.  To  found  a 
state  upon  a  waste  earth,  wherein  great  numbers  of  human 
beings  may  live  together,  and  in  successive  generations,  so- 
cially and  in  peace,  knit  to  one  another  by  the  innumerous 
ties,  light  as  air,  stronger  than  links  of  iron,  which  compose 
the  national  existence,  — -  wherein  they  may  help  each  other,  and 
be  helped  in  bearing  the  various  lot  of  life,  —  wherein  they  may 
enjoy  and  improve,  and  impart  and  heighten  enjoyment  and 
improvement,  —  wherein  they  may  together  perform  the  great 
social  labors,  may  reclaim  and  decorate  the  earth,  may  dis- 
inter the  treasures  that  grow  beneath  its  surface,  may  invent 
and  polish  the  arts  of  usefulness  and  beauty,  may  perfect  the 
loftier  arts  of  virtue  and  empire,  open  and  work  the  richer 
mines  of  the  universal  youthful  heart  and  intellect,  and  spread 
out  a  dwelling  for  the  Muse  on  the  glittering  summits  of  Free- 
dom, —  to  found  such  a  state  is  first  of  heroical  labors,  and 
heroical  glories.  To  build  a  pyramid  or  a  harbor,  to  write 
an  epic  poem,  to  construct  a  system  of  the  universe,  to  take  a 
city,  are  great,  or  may  be,  but  far  less  than  this. 

He,  then,  who  sets  a  colony  on  foot,  designs  a  great  work. 
He  designs  all  the  good,  and  all  the  glory,  of  which,  in  the 
series  of  ages,  it  may  be  the  means  ;  and  he  shall  be  judged 
more  by  the  lofty  ultimate  aim  and  result,  than  by  the  actual 
instant  motive.  You  may  well  admire,  therefore,  the  solemn 
and  adorned  plausibilities  of  the  colonizing  of  Rome  from 
Troy,  in  the  ^Eneid ;  though  the  leader  had  been  burned  out 
of  house  and  home,  and  could  not  choose  but  go.  You  may 
find  in  the  flight  of  the  female  founder  of  the  gloomy  great- 
ness of  Carthage,  a  certain  epic  interest ;  yet  was  she  running 
from  the  madness  of  her  husband  to  save  her  life.  Emig-ra- 
tions  from  our  stocked  communities  of  undeified  men  and 
women,  —  emigrations  for  conquest,  for  gold,  for  very  restless- 
ness of  spirit, —  if  they  grow  towards  an  imperial  issue,  have 
all  thus  a  prescriptive  and  recognized  ingredient  of  heroism. 
But  when  the  immediate  motive  is  as  grand  as  the  ultimate 
hope  was  lofty,  and  the  ultimate  success  splendid,  then,  to  use 
an  expression  of  Bacon's,  "  the  music  is  fuller." 

I  distinguish,  then,  this  enterprise  of  our  fathers,  in  the  first 
place,  by  the  character  of  the  immediate  motive. 


THE  AGE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS  OUR  HEROIC  PERIOD.    383 

And  that  was,  first,  a  sense  of  religious  duty.  They  had 
adopted  opinions  in  religion,  which  they  fully  believed  they 
ought  to  profess,  and  a  mode  of  public  worship  and  ordinances, 
which  they  fully  believed  they  ought  to  observe.  They  could 
not  do  so  in  England ;  and  they  went  forth  — man,  woman,  the 
infant  at  the  breast — across  an  ocean  in  winter,  to  find  a  wilder- 
ness where  they  could.  To  the  extent  of  this  motive,  there- 
fore, they  went  forth  to  glorify  God,  and  by  obeying  his  writ- 
ten will,  and  his  will  unwritten,  but  uttered  in  the  voice  of 
conscience  concerning  the  chief  end  of  man. 

It  was  next,  a  thirst  for  freedom  from  unnecessary  restraint, 
which  is  tyranny,  —  freedom  of  the  soul,  freedom  of  thought, 
a  larger  measure  of  freedom  of  life,  —  a  thirst  which  two  cen- 
turies had  been  kindling,  a  thirst  which  must  be  slaked, 
though  but  from  the  mountain  torrent,  though  but  from  drops 
falling  from  the  thunder  cloud,  though  but  from  fountains  lone 
and  far,  and  guarded  as  the  diamond  of  the  desert. 

These  were  the  motives, — the  sense  of  duty,  and  the  spirit  of 
liberty.  Great  sentiments,  great  in  man,  in  nations,  "  preg- 
nant with  celestial  fire!" — wherewithal  could  you  fashion  a 
people  for  the  contentions  and  honors  and  uses  of  the  impe- 
rial state  so  well  as  by  exactly  these  1  To  what,  rather  than 
these,  would  you  wish  to  trace  up  the  first  beatings  of  the  na- 
tion's heart  ?  If,  from  the  whole  field  of  occasion  and  motive, 
you  could  have  selected  the  very  passion,  the  very  chance, 
which  should  begin  your  history,  the  very  texture  and  pattern 
and  hue  of  the  glory  which  should  rest  on  its  first  days,  could 
you  have  chosen  so  well  ?  The  sense  of  duty,  the  spirit  of 
liberty,  not  prompting  to  vanity  or  luxury  or  dishonest  fame, 
to  glare  or  clamor  or  hollow  circumstance  of  being,  silent, 
intense,  earnest,  of  force  to  walk  through  the  furnace  of  fire, 
yea,  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  to  open  a  path  amid 
the  sea,  to  make  the  wilderness  to  bud  and  blossom  as  the 
rose,  to  turn  back  half  a  world  in  arms,  to  fill  the  amplest 
measure  of  a  nation's  praise  ! 

I  am  glad,  then,  that  one  of  our  own  poets  could  truly  say, 

"  Nor  lure  of  conquest's  meteor  beam, 
Nor  dazzling  mines  of  fancy's  dream, 
Nor  wild  adventure's  love  to  roam. 
Brought  from  their  fathers'  ancient  home, 
O'er  the  wide  sea,  the  Pilsrim  host ! " 


384  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

I  should  be  glad  of  it,  if  I  were  looking  back  to  the  past  of 
our  history  merely  for  the  moral  picturesque,  —  if  I  were  look- 
ing back  merely  to  find  splendid  moral  scenery,  mountain 
elevations,  falls  of  water  watched  by  the  rainbow  of  sunlight 
and  moonlight,  colossal  forms,  memorable  deeds,  renown 
and  grace  that  could  not  die,  —  if  I  were  looking  merely 
to  find  materials  for  sculpture,  for  picture,  for  romance, — 
subjects  for  the  ballad  by  which  childhood  shall  be  sung  to 
sleep,  subjects  for  the  higher  minstrelsy  that  may  fill  the  eye 
of  beauty  and  swell  the  bosom  of  manhood,  —  if  I  were 
looking  back  for  these  alone,  I  should  be  glad  that  the  praise 
is  true.  Even  to  such  an  eye,  the  embarkation  of  the  Pil- 
grims and  the  lone  path  of  The  Mayflower  upon  the  "  aston- 
ished sea,"  were  a  grander  sight  than  navies  of  mightiest 
admirals  seen  beneath  the  lifted  clouds  of  battle ;  grander  than 
the  serried  ranks  of  armed  men  moving  by  tens  of  thousands 
to  the  music  of  an  unjust  glory.  If  you  take  to  pieces  and 
carefully  inspect  all  the  efforts,  all  the  situations,  of  that  moral 
sublime  which  gleams  forth,  here  and  there,  in  the  true  or  the 
feigned  narrative  of  human  things,  —  deaths  of  martyrs,  or 
martyred  patriots,  or  heroes  in  the  hour  of  victory,  revolu- 
tions, reformations,  self-sacrifices,  fields  lost  or  won,  —  you 
will  find  nothing  nobler  at  their  source  than  the  motives  and 
the  hopes  of  that  ever-memorable  voyage.  These  motives 
and  these  hopes  —  the  sacred  sentiments  of  duty,  obedience  to 
the  will  of  God,  religious  trust,  and  the  spirit  of  liberty  — 
have  inspired,  indeed,  all  the  beautiful  and  all  the  grand  in 
the  history  of  man.  The  rest  is  commonplace.  "  The  rest  is 
vanity ;    the  rest  is  crime." 

I  distinguish  this  enterprise  of  our  fathers  next,  by  certain 
peculiarities  of  trial  which  it  encountered  and  vanquished  on  the 
shores  of  the  New  World.  You  have  seen  the  noble  spring 
of  character  and  motive  from  which  the  current  of  our  national 
fortunes  has  issued  forth.  You  can  look  around  you  to-day, 
and  see  into  how  broad  and  deep  a  stream  that  current  has 
expanded,  what  beams  of  the  sun,  still  climbing  the  eastern 
sky,  play  on  its  surface,  what  accumulations  of  costly  and 
beautiful  things  it  bears  along,  through  what  valley  of  hap- 
piness and  rest  it  rolls  towards  some  mightier  sea.  But  turn 
for  a  moment  to  its  earlier  course. 


THE  AGE   OF   THE   PILGRIMS   OUR  HEROIC   PERIOD.    335 

The  first  generation  of  the  Pilgrims  arrived  in  1620.  I 
suppose  that  within  fifty  years  more  that  generation  had 
wholly  passed  away.  Certainly  its  term  of  active  labor  and 
responsible  care  had  been  accomplished.  Looking  to  its  actual 
achievements,  our  first,  perhaps  our  final  impulse  is,  not  to 
pity,  but  to  congratulate  these  ancient  dead,  on  the  felicity  and 
the  glory  of  their  lot  on  earth.  In  that  brief  time,  not  the 
full  age  of  man,  —  in  the  years  of  nations,  in  the  larger  cycles 
of  the  race,  less  than  a  moment,  —  the  New  England  which 
to-day  we  love,  to  which  our  hearts  untravelled  go  back,  even 
from  this  throne  of  the  American  commercial  world,  —  that 
New  England,  in  her  groundwork  and  essential  nature,  was 
established  forever  between  her  giant  mountains  and  her  es- 
poused sea.  There  already  —  ay,  in  The  Mayflower's  cabin, 
before  they  set  foot  on  shore  —  was  representative  repub- 
lican government.  There  were  the  congenial  institutions  and 
sentiments  from  which  such  government  imbibes  its  power 
of  life.  There  already,  side  by  side,  were  the  securities  of 
conservatism  and  the  germs  of  progress.  There  already  were 
the  congregational  church  and  the  free  school ;  the  trial  by 
jury;  the  statutes  of  distributions;  just  so  much  of  the  writ- 
ten and  unwritten  reason  of  England  as  might  fitly  compose 
the  jurisprudence  of  liberty.  By  a  happy  accident,  or  in- 
stinct, there  already  was  the  legalized  and  organized  town, 
that  seminary  and  central  point,  and  exemplification  of  ele- 
mentary democracy.  Silently  adopted,  everywhere  and  in  all 
things  assumed,  penetrating  and  tinging  everything,  —  the 
church,  the  government,  law,  education,  the  very  structure  of 
the  mind  itself, — was  the  grand  doctrine,  that  all  men  are  born 
equal  and  born  free,  that  they  are  born  to  the  same  inheritance 
exactly  of  chances  and  of  hopes ;  that  every  child,  on  every 
bosom,  of  right  ought  to  be,  equally  with  every  other,  invited 
and  stimulated,  by  every  social  and  every  political  influence,  to 
strive  for  the  happiest  life,  the  largest  future,  the  most  con- 
spicuous virtue,  the  fullest  mind,  the  brightest  wreath. 

There  already  were  all,  or  the  chief  and  higher  influences, 
by  which  comes  the  heart  of  a  nation.  There  was  reverence 
of  law,  —  "Our  guardian  angel,  and  our  avenging  friend." 
There  were  the  councils  of  the  still  venerated  aged.  There 
was  the  open  Bible.  There  were  marriage,  baptism,  the  burial 
VOL.  I.  33 


386  LECTURES   AND  ADDRESSES. 

of  the  dead,  the  keeping  of  the  Sabbath-day,  the  purity  of 
a  sister's  love,  a  mother's  tears,  a  father's  careful  brow.  All 
these  there  had  been  provided  and  garnered  up.  With  how 
much  practical  sagacity  they  had  been  devised ;  how  skilfully 
adapted  to  the  nature  of  things  and  the  needs  of  men ;  how 
well  the  principle  of  permanence  had  been  harmonized  with 
the  principle  of  progression ;  what  diffusiveness  and  immor- 
tality of  fame  they  will  insure,  we  have  lived  late  enough  to 
know.  On  these  works,  legible  afar  off,  cut  deep  beyond  the 
tooth  of  time,  the  long  procession  of  the  generations  shall  read 
their  names. 

But  we  should  miss  the  grandest  and  most  salutary  lesson 
of  our  heroic  age ;  we  should  miss  the  best  proof  and  illustra- 
tion of  its  heroic  claims,  if  we  should  permit  the  wisdom  with 
which  that  generation  acted,  to  hide  from  our  view  the  inten- 
sity and  dignity  with  which  they  suffered.  It  was  therefore 
that  I  was  about  to  distinguish  this  enterprise,  in  the  second 
place,  by  certain  peculiarities  of  its  trials. 

The  general  fact  and  the  mournful  details  of  that  extrem- 
ity of  suffering  which  marked  the  first  few  years  from  the 
arrival,  you  all  know.  It  is  not  these  I  design  to  repeat.  We 
have  heard  from  our  mothers'  lips,  that,  although  no  man  or 
woman  or  child  perished  by  the  arrow,  mightier  enemies  en- 
compassed them  at  the  very  water's  edge.  Of  the  whole  num- 
ber of  one  hundred,  one  half  landed  to  die  within  a  year,  — ^ 
almost  one  half  in  the  first  three  months,  —  to  die  of  disease 
brought  on  by  the  privations  and  confinement  of  the  voyage, 
by  wading  to  the  land,  by  insufficient  and  unfit  food  and 
dress  and  habitation,  —  brought  on  thus,  but  rendered  mortal 
by  want  of  that  indispensable  and  easy  provision  which  Chris- 
tianity, which  Civilization  everywhere  makes  for  all  their  sick. 
Once  seven  only  were  left  in  health  and  strength,  to  attend  on 
the  others.  There  and  thus  they  died.  "  In  a  battle,"  said 
the  admirable  Robinson,  writing  from  Leyden  to  the  survivors 
in  the  June  after  they  landed,  —  "  in  a  battle  it  is  not  looked 
for  but  that  divers  should  die ;  it  is  thought  well  for  a  side,  if 
it  get  the  victory,  though  with  the  loss  of  divers,  if  not  too 
many  or  too  great."  But  how  sore  a  mortality  in  less  than 
a  year,  almost  within  a  fourth  of  that  time,  of  fifty  in  one 
hundred  ! 


THE   AGE    OF   THE   PILGRIMS   OUR   HEROIC   PERIOD.    387 

In  a  late  visit  to  Plymouth,  I  sought  the  spot  where  these 
earlier  dead  were  buried.  It  was  on  a  bank,  somewhat  ele- 
vated, near,  fronting,  and  looking  upon  the  waves,  —  symbol 
of  what  life  had  been  to  them,  —  ascending  inland  behind  and 
above  the  rock,  —  symbol  also  of  that  Rock  of  Ages  on 
which  the  dying  had  rested  in  the  final  hour.  As  the  Pil- 
grims found  these  localities,  you  might  stand  on  that  bank 
and  hear  the  restless  waters  chafe  and  melt  against  that  stead- 
fast base ;  the  unquiet  of  the  world  composing  itself  at  the 
portals  of  the  grave.  There  certainly  were  buried  the  first 
governor,  and  Rose,  the  wife  of  Miles  Standish.  "  You  will 
go  to  them,"  wrote  Robinson  in  the  same  letter  from  which 
I  have  quoted,  "  but  they  shall  not  return  to  you." 

When  this  sharp  calamity  had  abated,  and  before,  came 
famine.  "  I  have  seen,"  said  Edward  Winslow,  "  strong  men 
staggering  through  faintness  for  want  of  food."  And  after 
this,  and  during  all  this,  and  for  years,  there  brooded  in  every 
mind,  not  a  weak  fear,  but  an  intelligent  apprehension,  that  at 
any  instant  —  at  midnight,  at  noonday,  at  the  baptism,  at  the 
burial,  in  the  hour  of  prayer — a  foe  more  cruel  than  the  grave, 
might  blast  in  an  hour  that  which  disease  and  want  had  so 
hardly  let  live.  How  they  bore  all  this,  you  also  know.  One 
fact  suffices.  When  in  April  the  Mayflower  sailed  for  Eng- 
land, not  one  Pilgrim  was  found  to  go. 

The  peculiarity  which  has  seemed  to  me  to  distinguish 
these  trials  of  the  Pilgrim  Age  from  those,  from  the  chief  of 
those,  which  the  general  voice  of  literature  has  concurred  to 
glorify  as  the  trials  of  heroism  ;  the  peculiarity  which  gives 
to  these,  and  such  as  these,  the  attributes  of  a  truer  heroism,  is 
this  —  that  they  had  to  meet  them  on  what  was  then  an  hum- 
ble, obscure,  and  distant  stage ;  with  no  numerous  audience  to 
look  on  and  applaud,  and  cast  its  wreaths  on  the  fainting  brow 
of  him  whose  life  was  rushing  with  his  blood,  and  unsus- 
tained  by  a  single  one  of  those  stronger  and  more  stimulating 
and  impulsive  passions  and  aims  and  sentiments,  which  carry 
a  soldier  to  his  grave  of  honor  as  joyfully  as  to  the  bridal  bed. 
Where  were  the  Pilgrims  while  in  this  furnace  of  affliction  ? 
Who  saw  and  cared  for  them  1  A  hundred  persons,  under- 
stood to  be  Lollards,  or  Precisians,  or  Puritans,  or  Brownists, 
had  sailed  away  some  three  thousand  miles,  to  arrive  on  a  win- 


388  LECTURES   AND  ADDRESSES. 

ter's  coast,  in  order  to  be  where  they  could  hear  a  man  preach 
without  a  surpHce  !  That  was  just  about  all,  England,  or 
the  whole  world  of  civilization,  at  first  knew,  or  troubled  itself 
to  believe,  about  the  matter.  If  every  one  had  died  of  lung 
fever,  or  starved  to  death,  or  fallen  by  the  tomahawk,  that 
first  winter,  and  The  Mayflower  had  carried  the  news,  I  won- 
der how  many  of  even  the  best  in  England  —  the  accom- 
plished, the  beautiful,  the  distinguished,  the  wise  —  would 
have  heard  of  it.  A  heart,  or  more  than  one,  in  Leyden, 
would  have  broken ;  and  that  had  been  all.  I  wonder  if  King 
James  would  have  cried  as  heartily  as  in  the  "  Fortunes  of 
Nigel "  he  does  in  anticipation  of  his  own  death  and  the 
sorrow  of  his  subjects !  I  wonder  what  in  a  later  day  the 
author  of  "  Hudibras  "  and  the  author  of  the  "  Hind  and 
Panther,"  would  have  found  to  say  about  it,  for  the  wits  of 
Charles  the  Second's  court.  What  did  anybody  even  in  Pu- 
ritan England  know  of  these  Pilgrims  1  They  had  been 
fourteen  years  in  Holland ;  English  Puritanism  was  taking 
care  of  itself!  They  were  alone  on  the  earth;  and  there 
they  stood  directly,  and  only,  in  their  great  Taskmaster's  eye. 
Unlike  even  the  martyrs,  around  whose  ascending  chariot- 
wheels  and  horses  of  fire,  congregations  might  come  to  sym- 
pathize, and  bold  blasphemers  to  be  defied  and  stricken  with 
awe,  —  these  were  all  alone.  Those  two  ranges  of  small 
houses,  not  over  ten  in  all,  with  oil  paper  for  windows ;  that 
ship.  The  Mayflower,  riding  at  the  distance  of  a  mile,  —  these 
were  every  memorial  and  trace  of  friendly  civilization  in  New 
England.  Primeval  forests,  a  winter  sea,  a  winter  sky, 
enclosed  them  about,  and  shut  out  every  approving  and  every 
sympathizing  eye  of  man  !  To  play  the  part  of  heroism  on 
its  high  places  is  not  difficult.  To  do  it  alone,  as  seeing  Him 
who  is  invisible,  was  the  gigantic  achievement  of  our  age  and 
our  race  of  heroism. 

I  have  said,  too,  that  a  peculiarity  in  their  trial  was,  that 
they  were  unsustained  altogether  by  every  one  of  the  passions, 
aims,  stimulants,  and  excitations, — the  anger,  the  revenge,  the 
hate,  the  pride,  the  awakened  dreadful  thirst  of  blood,  the  con- 
suming love  of  glory,  that  burn,  as  in  volcanic  isles,  in  the 
heart  of  a  mere  secularized  heroism.  Not  one  of  all  these 
aids  did,  or  could,  come  in  use  for  them  at  all.     Their  charac- 


THE  AGE   OF   THE   PILGRIMS   OUR   HEROIC   PERIOD.    $89 

ter  and  their  situation,  both,  excluded  them.  Their  enemies 
were  disease,  walking  in  darkness  and  wasting  at  noonday  ; 
famine  which,  more  than  all  other  calamity,  bows  the  spirit  of 
man,  and  teaches  him  what  he  is ;  the  wilderness  ;  spiritual 
foes  in  the  high  places  of  the  unseen  world.  Even  when  the 
first  Indian  was  killed,  —  in  presence  of  which  enemy,  let  me 
say,  not  one  ever  quailed,  —  the  exclamation  of  Robinson  was, 
"Oh  that  you  had  converted  some,  before  you  had  killed  any!" 
Now,  I  say,  the  heroism  which  in  a  great  cause  can  look 
all  the  more  terrible  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to  calmly  in  the 
face,  and  can  tread  them  out  as  sparks  under  its  feet  without 
these  aids,  is  at  least  as  lofty  a  quality  as  that  which  cannot. 
To  my  eye,  as  I  look  back,  it  looms  on  the  shores  of  the 
past  with  a  more  towering  grandeur.  It  seems  to  me  to 
speak  from  our  far  ancestral  life,  a  higher  lesson,  to  a  nobler 
nature  ;  certainly  it  is  the  rarer  and  more  difficult  species.  If 
one  were  called  on  to  select  the  more  glittering  of  the  in- 
stances of  military  heroism  to  which  the  admiration  of  the 
world  has  been  most  attracted,  he  would  make  choice,  I  ima- 
gine, of  the  instance  of  that  desperate  valor,  with  which,  in 
obedience  to  the  laws,  Leonidas  and  his  three  hundred  Spar- 
tans, cast  themselves  headlong  at  the  passes  of  Greece  on  the 
myriads  of  their  Persian  invaders.  From  the  simple  page  of 
Herodotus,  longer  than  from  the  Amphictyonic  monument,  or 
the  games  of  the  commemoration,  that  act  speaks  still  to  the 
tears  and  praise  of  all  the  world.  Yet  I  agree  with  a  late 
brilliant  writer  in  his  speculation  on  the  probable  feelings  of 
that  devoted  band,  left  alone,  or  waiting,  till  day  should  break, 
the  approach  of  a  certain  death  in  that  solitary  defile.  "  Their 
enthusiasm,  and  that  rigid  and  Spartan  spirit  which  had  made 
all  ties  subservient  to  obedience  to  the  law,  all  excitement  tame 
to  that  of  battle,  all  pleasures  dull  to  the  anticipation  of  glory, 
probably  rendered  the  hour  preceding  death  the  most  enviable 
of  their  lives.  They  might  have  exulted  in  the  same  elevating 
fanaticism  which  distinguished  afterwards  the  followers  of  Ma- 
homet, and  have  seen  that  opening  paradise  in  immortality  be- 
low, which  the  Moslemin  beheld  in  anticipation  above."  Judo;^e 
if  it  were  not  so.  Judge  if  a  more  decorated  and  conspicuous 
stage  was  ever  erected  for  the  transaction  of  a  deed  of  fame. 
Every  eye  in  Greece ;  every  eye  throughout  the  world  of  civi- 

33* 


390  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

lization. — throuffliout  even  the  civilized  and  barbaric  East, — 
was  felt  to  be  turned  directly  on  the  playing-  of  that  brief  part. 
There  passed  round  that  narrow  circle  in  the  tent,  the  stern, 
warning"  image  of  Sparta,  pointing  to  their  shields  and  say- 
ing, "  With  these  to-morrow,  or  upon  them  !  "     Consider  that 
the  one  concentrated  and  comprehensive  sentiment,  graven  on 
their  souls   as  by  fire  and  by  steel ;  by  all  the  influences  of 
their  whole  life ;  by  the  mother's  lips  ;  by  the  father's  exam- 
ple ;    by  the  law ;    by  venerated   religious    rites ;    by    public 
opinion  strong  enough  to  change  the  moral  qualities  of  things ; 
by  the  whole  fashion  and  nature  of  Spartan  culture,  was  this : 
seek  first,  seek  last,  seek  always,  the  glory  of  conquering  or 
falling  on  a  well-fought  field.     Judge  if  that  night,  as  they 
watched  the  dawn  of  the  last  morning  their  eyes  could  ever 
see ;  as  they  heard  with  every  passing  hour  the  hum  of  the 
invading  host,  his  dusky  lines  stretched  out  without  end,  and 
now   almost    encircling    them    around ;    as   they   remembered 
their  unprofaned  home,  city  of  heroes  and  of  the  mothers  of 
heroes ;  judge  if  watching  there  in  the  gateway  of  Greece,  this 
sentiment  did  not  grow  to  the  nature  of  madness ;  if  it  did 
not  run   in   torrents  of  literal  fire  to  and   from  the  laboring 
heart.     When  morning  came  and  passed,  and  they  had  dressed 
their  long  locks,  and  when  at  noon  the  countless  and  glittering 
throng  was  seen  at  last  to  move,  was  it  not  with  rapture,  as  if 
all  the  enjoyment  of  all  the  sensations  of  life  was  in  that  one 
moment,  that  they  cast  themselves,  with  the  fierce  gladness  of 
mountain  torrents,  on  that  brief  revelry  of  glory"? 

I  acknowledge  the  splendor  of  that  transaction  in  all  its 
aspects.  I  admit  its  morality,  too,  and  its  useful  influence  on 
every  Grecian  heart,  in  that  her  great  crisis.  And  yet  do  you 
not  think,  that  whoso  could  by  adequate  description  bring  before 
you  that  first  winter  of  the  Pilgrims  ;  its  brief  sunshine  ;  the 
nights  of  storms  slow  waning ;  its  damp  or  icy  breath  felt  on 
the  pillow  of  the  dying ;  its  destitution  ;  its  contrasts  with  all 
their  former  experience  of  life ;  its  insulation  and  utter  loneli- 
ness ;  its  death-beds  and  burials ;  its  memories ;  its  apprehen- 
sions ;  its  hopes  ;  the  consultations  of  the  prudent ;  the  prayers 
of  the  pious  ;  the  occasional  hymn  which  may  have  soothed 
the  spirit  of  Luther,  in  which  the  strong  heart  threw  off"  its  bur- 
then and  asserted  its  unvanquished  nature ;  do  you  not  think 


THE   AGE   OF   THE   PILGRIMS   OUR  HEROIC   PERIOD.    39 1 

that  whoso  coukl  describe  them  cahnly  waiting  in  that  defile, 
loneher  and  darker  than  Thernaopylse,  for  a  morning  that 
might  never  dawn,  or  might  show  them  when  it  did,  a  miglitier 
arm  than  the  Persian,  raised  as  in  act  to  strike,  would  he 
not  sketch  a  scene  of  more  difficult  and  rarer  heroism,  -—  a 
scene,  as  Wordsworth  has  said,  "  Melancholy,  yea  dismal,  yet 
consolatory  and  full  of  joy,"  —  a  scene  even  better  fitted  than 
that  to  succor,  to  exalt,  to  lead  the  forlorn  hopes  of  all  great 
causes,  till  time  shall  be  no  more? 

I  can  seem  to  see,  as  that  hard  and  dark  season  was  pass- 
ing away,  a  diminished  procession  of  these  Pilgrims  following 
another,  dearly  loved  and  newly  dead,  to  that  bank  of  graves, 
and  pausing  sadly  there  before  they  shall  turn  away  to  see  that 
face  no  more.  In  full  view  from  that  spot  is  The  Mayflower 
still  riding  at  her  anchor,  but  to  sail  in  a  few  days  more  for 
England,  leaving  them  alone,  the  living  and  the  dead,  to  the 
weal  or  woe  of  their  new  home.  I  cannot  say  what  was  the 
entire  emotion  of  that  moment  and  that  scene ;  but  the  tones 
of  the  venerated  elder's  voice,  as  they  gathered  round  him, 
were  full  of  cheerful  trust,  and  they  went  to  hearts  as  noble  as 
his  own.  "  This  spot,"  he  might  say,  "  this  line  of  shore,  yea, 
this  whole  land,  grows  dearer  daily,  were  it  only  for  the  pre- 
cious dust  which  we  have  committed  to  its  bosom.  I  would 
sleep  here  and  have  my  own  hour  come,  rather  than  elsewhere, 
with  those  who  shared  with  us  in  our  exceeding  labors,  whose 
burdens  are  now  unloosed  forever.  I  would  be  near  them  in 
the  last  day,  and  have  a  part  in  their  resurrection.  And  now," 
he  proceeded,  "let  us  go  from  the  side  of  the  grave  to  work 
with  all  our  might  that  which  we  have  to  do.  It  is  on  my 
mind  that  our  night  of  sorrow  is  wellnigh  ended,  and  that  the 
joy  of  our  morning  is  at  hand.  The  breath  of  the  pleasant 
south-west  is  here,  and  the  singing  of  birds.  The  sore  sick- 
ness is  stayed ;  somewhat  more  than  half  our  number  still 
remain ;  and  among  these  some  of  our  best  and  wisest,  though 
others  are  fallen  on  sleep.  Matter  of  joy  and  thanksgiving  it 
is,  that  among  you  all,  the  living  and  the  dead,  I  know  not 
one,  even  when  disease  had  touched  him,  and  sharp  grief  had 
made  his  heart  as  a  little  child's,  who  desired,  yea,  who  could 
have  been  entreated,  to  go  back  to  England  by  yonder  ship. 


SQ2  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

Plainly  is  it  God's  will  that  we  stand  or  fall  here.  All  His 
providences  these  hundred  years  declare  it  as  with  beams  of 
the  sun.  Did  He  not  set  His  bow  in  the  clouds  in  that  bit- 
terest hour  of  our  embarking,  and  build  His  glorious  ark 
upop  the  sea  for  us  to  sail  through  hitherward  ]  Wherefore, 
let  us  stand  in  our  lot !  If  He  prosper  us  we  shall  found  a 
church  against  which  the  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail ;  and 
a  colony,  yea,  a  nation,  by  which  all  other  nations  shall  be 
healed.  Millions  shall  spring  from  our  loins,  and  trace  back 
with  lineal  love  their  blood  to  ours.  Centuries  hereafter,  in 
great  cities,  the  capitals  of  mighty  States,  from  the  tribes  of  a 
common  Israel,  shall  come  together  the  good,  the  eminent,  the 
beautiful,  to  remember  our  dark  day  of  small  things ;  yea, 
generations  shall  call  us  blessed  !  " 

Without  a  sigh,  calmly,  with  triumph,  they  sent  The  May- 
flower away,  and  went  back,  these  stern,  strong  men,  all,  all, 
to  their  imperial  labors. 

I  have  said  that  I  deemed  it  a  great  thing  for  a  nation,  in 
all  the  periods  of  its  fortunes,  to  be  able  to  look  back  to  a  race 
of  founders  and  a  principle  of  institution  in  which  it  might 
seem  to  see  the  realized  idea  of  true  heroism.  That  felicity, 
that  pride,  that  help,  is  ours.  Our  past  —  both  its  great 
eras,  that  of  settlement  and  that  of  independence  —  should 
announce,  should  compel,  should  spontaneously  evolve  as 
from  a  germ,  a  wise,  moral,  and  glorious  future.  These 
heroic  men  and  women  should  not  look  down  on  a  dwin- 
dled posterity.  It  should  seem  to  be  almost  of  course, 
too  easy  to  be  glorious,  that  they  who  keep  the  graves, 
bear  the  name,  and  boast  the  blood,  of  men  in  whom  the 
loftiest  sense  of  duty  blended  itself  with  the  fiercest  spirit 
of  liberty,  should  add  to  their  freedom,  justice;  justice 
to  all  men,  to  all  nations ;  justice,  that  venerable  virtue, 
without  which  freedom,  valor,  and  power,  are  but  vulgar 
thinsrs. 

And  yet  is  the  past  nothing,  even  our  past,  but  as  you, 
quickened  by  its  examples,  instructed  by  its  experience, 
warned  by  its  voices,  assisted  by  its  accumulated  instru- 
mentality, shall  reproduce  it  in  the  life  of  to-day.  Its  once 
busy  existence,    various    sensations,  fiery   trials,    dear-bought 


THE   AGE    OF   THE   PILGRIMS   OUR   HEROIC   PERIOD.    gQS 

triumphs ;  its  dynasty  of  heroes,  all  its  pulses  of  joy  and 
anguish,  and  hope  and  fear,  and  love  and  praise,  are  with 
the  years  beyond  the  flood.  "  The  sleeping  and  the  dead 
are  but  as  pictures."  Yet,  gazing  on  these,  long  and 
intently  and  often,  we  may  pass  into  the  likeness  of  the 
departed,  —  may  emulate  their  labors,  and  partake  of  their 
immortality. 


THE  POWER  OF  A  STATE  DEVELOPED  BY 
MENTAL  CULTURE: 


A    LECTUKE    DELIVERED    BEFORE  THE    MERCANTILE    LIBRARY    ASSOCIATION, 
NOVEMBER  18,  1844. 


The  transition  from  the  scenes  which  have  been  passing- 
before  us  for  the  last  few  months,  to  such  a  spectacle  as  this, 
is  so  sudden,  so  delightful,  that  I  can  scarcely  refrain,  as  I 
cast  my  eyes  over  this  composed  and  cultivated  assembly,  from 
exclaiming,  "  Hail,  holy  light !  "  The  clamor,  tumult,  and 
stimulations  which  attend  that  great  trial  and  great  task  of 
liberty  through  which  we  have  just  gone,  —  a  nation's  choice 
of  its  ruler,  —  those  vast  gatherings  of  the  people,  —  not 
quite  in  their  original  and  ultimate  sovereignty  above  or  with- 
out the  law,  but  in  mass  and  bodily  numbers  without  number; 
processions  without  end,  —  by  daylight  and  torchlight  —  un- 
der the  law ;  the  stormy  wave  of  the  multitude  rising  and 
falling^  to  the  eloquence  of  liberty,  —  if  it  were  eloquence  at 
all ;  the  hope,  the  fear,  the  anxious  care,  the  good  news  waited 
for  and  not  coming,  the  bad  news  riding  somewhere  about  a 
couple  of  hundVed  miles  in  advance  of  the  express  of  either 
side  ;  the  cheers  of  your  co-workers  ;  the  hissings  and  groan- 
ings,  not  to  be  uttered,  of  your  opponents,  —  all  are  passed 
away  as  dreams.  We  find  ourselves  collected  without  dis- 
tinction of  party,  without  memory  of  party,  in  the  security 
and  confidence  of  reconciliation,  or  at  least  of  truce,  in  the 
still  air,  —  upon  the  green  and  neutral  ground  of  thoughts 
and  studies  common  and  grateful  to  us  all.  To  look  back- 
ward brings  to  mind  what  Lenox  says  to  Macbeth  in  the 
morning,  before  he  had  heard  of  the  murder  of  the  king. 

"  The  nin;ht  has  been  unruly  ;  where  we  lay 
Our  chimneys  were  blown  down,  and  as  they  say 
Lamentings  heard  in  the  air, 


POWER  OF  A  STATE  DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE.    395 

And  prophesy  in  <TS,  with  accents  terrible, 

Of  dire  combustion  and  confused  events  , 

New-hatched  to  the  woful  time  !  " 

The  night  has  passed,  and  the  morning'  of  an  eventful  day  is 
risen.     So  much  we  know  ;  and  it  is  all  we  know. 

Delightful,  in  some  sense,  as  I  feel  this  change  of  scene, 
of  society,  and  of  influences  to  be,  I  have  found  myself  unable 
and  unwilling,  in  the  selection  of  a  topic  for  the  hour  of  this 
meeting,  altogether  to  forget  the  occasion  to  which  I  have 
referred.  I  have  rather  desired  to  see  if  we  might  not  all, 
without  distinction  of  party,  (for  of  the  existence  of  party  we 
know  nothing  here,)  —  if  we  might  not  all,  the  winner  and 
the  loser  —  contrive  to  learn  some  useful  lesson  from  the  oc- 
casion. All  that  happens  in  the  world  of  Nature  or  Man, — • 
every  war ;  every  peace  ;  every  hour  of  prosperity  ;  every 
hour  of  adversity  ;  every  election  ;  every  death  ;  every  life  ; 
every  success  and  every  failure,  —  all  change,  —  all  perma- 
nence,—  the  perished  leaf;  the  unutterable  glory  of  stars, — 
all  things  speak  truth  to  the  thoughtful  spirit. 

"  List  ever,  then,  to  the  words  of  Wisdom,  whether  she 
speaketh  to  the  soul  in  the  full  cliords  of  revelation,  in  the 
teaching  of  earth  or  air  or  sky,  or  in  the  still  melodies  of 
thought !  " 

I  wonder,  then,  if  during  the  labors  and  excitations  of  the 
late  election,  and  in  the  contemplation  of  possible  results  near 
and  far  forward,  the  inquiry  has  not  occurred  to  you,  as  to 
me  it  has  a  thousand  times,  is  there  no  way,  are  there  no 
expedients  by  which  such  a  State  as  Massachusetts,  for  ex- 
ample, may  remain  in  the  Union,  performing  the  duties,  par- 
taking as  far  as  may  be  of  the  good  of  Union,  and  yet  be 
in  some  greater  degree  than  now  she  is,  independent  of  and 
unaffected  by  the  administrative  and  legislative  policy  of 
Union  ]  Is  there  no  way  to  secure  to  ourselves  a  more 
steady,  sure,  progressive  prosperity,  —  such  a  prosperity  in 
larger  measure  than  we  are  apt  to  imagine,  —  whatever  na- 
tional politics  come  uppermost  ?  Is  there  no  way  to  sink  the 
springs  of  our  growth  and  greatness  so  deep,  that  the  want 
of  a  little  rain  or  a  little  dew,  a  little  too  much  sunshine  or 
too  much  shade  from  Washington,  shall  not  necessarily  cut 
off"  "  the  herd  from  the  stalls  "  and  cause  the  "  fields  to  yield 


396  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

no  meat "  1  Must  it  be,  that  because  the  great  central  re- 
gions, the  valley  of  the  Mississippi,  the  undefined  and  expand- 
ing" South-west,  have  attracted  to  themselves  the  numerical 
supremacy  —  that  our  day  is  done  1     Is  our  voice,  once 

"  Their  liveliest  pledge  ' 

Of  hope  in  fears  and  dangers,  heard  so  oft 
In  worst  extremes,  and  on  the  perilous  edge 
Of  battle  when  it  raged  in  all  assaults 
Their  surest  signal,"  — 

is  that  voice  to  be  heard  no  more  ^  Have  we  declined, 
must  we  decline,  into  the  condition  of  a  province — doomed 
to  await  passively  the  edict  of  a  distant  palace,  which  shall 
cause  it  to  thrive  to-day  and  pine  to-morrow ;  now  raise  it  to 
a  gaudy  and  false  prosperity,  and  then  press  "  its  beaming 
forehead  to  the  dust  "  1  Or  is  there  a  way  by  which  we  yet 
may  be,  and  forever  may  be,  the  arbiters  of  our  own  fortunes ; 
may  yet  be  felt  in  the  counsels  of  America ;  may  yet  help 
to  command  a  national  policy  which  we  approve,  or  at  least 
to  bear  unharmed  a  national  policy  which  we  condemn?  Must 
we  pale  and  fade  and  be  dissolved  in  the  superior  rays  of  the 
great  constellation,  or  yet  "  flame  in  the  forehead  of  the  morn- 
ing sky  "  with  something  of  the  brightness  of  our  rising  'i 

I  take  it  for  granted  in  all  such  speculations,  in  all  such 
moods  as  this,  that  we  are  to  remain  in  the  Federal  Union. 
With  our  sisters  of  the  Republic  we  would  live  —  we  would 

die  — 

"  One  hope,  one  lot,  one  life,  one  glory." 

I  agree,  too,  that  whatever  we  may  do  for  Massachusetts, 
the  influence  of  national  politics  upon  our  local  prosperity 
must  always  be  inappreciably  great  for  evil  or  for  good. 

It  is  of  individuals,  not  States,  that  Goldsmith  exclaims, 

"  How  small,  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure, 
That  part  which  kings  or  laws  can  cause  or  cure  !  " 

The  joy  and  sorrow,  the  greatness  and  decline,  of  nations,  are 
to  a  vast  extent  the  precise  work  of  kings  or  laws ;  and 
although  in  our  system  every  State  has  its  own  government 
and  its  own  civil  polity,  to  which  important  functions  are 
assigned,  yet  when  you  consider  that  it  is  to  the  great  cen- 
tral power  that  war,  peace,  diplomacy,  finance,  our  whole  in- 
tercourse with  the  world,  trade,  as  far  as  winds  blow  or  waters 


POWER  OF  A  STATE  DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE. 


397 


roll,  the  trust  of  our  glory,  the  protection  of  our  labor,  are 
confided,  —  nobody  can  indulge  the  dream  tliat  a  State  may 
remain  in  the  Union  at  all,  and  yet  be  insensible  of  the  good 
and  evil,  the  wisdom  or  the  folly,  the  honor  and  the  shame,  of 
its  successive  administrations. 

And  yet  1  think  that  the  statesmen  of  Massachusetts  may 
well  ask  themselves,  whether  there  are  no  expedients  of  em- 
pire or  imperial  arts  worthy  her, — worthy  them, — by  \\hich 
they  may  enable  her  either  to  retain  consideration  and  lead 
in  the  general  government,  to  be  conspicuous  and  influence 
an  American  opinion,  by  which  they  may  enable  her  either 
to  extort  what  she  calls  good  policy,  —  or  else  to  break  the 
force  of  what  she  calls  occasional  bad  policy,  which  she  cannot 
hinder  and  to  which  she  must  submit. 

Passing  over  all  other  expedients  as  unsuitable  to  the  charac- 
ter and  relations  of  this  assembly,  is  it  not  worth  while  to  con- 
sider this  matter,  for  example,  —  whether  a  higher  degree  of 
general  mental  culture,  a  more  thorough  exercising  and  accom- 
plishing of  the  whole  mass  of  our  popular  and  higher  mind, 
more  knowledge,  a  wider  diffusion  of  knowledge,  loftier  attain- 
ments in  useful  and  in  graceful  knowledge  than  we  have  ever 
reached,  or  that  any  State  has  reached,  might  not  help  us  to 
meet  the  enlarging  demand  of  time,  and  the  successive  crises 
of  the  commonwealth  ]  Is  it  certain  that  in  our  speculations 
on  the  causes  of  the  grandeur  and  decay,  of  the  wealth  and 
the  poverty,  the  importance  and  the  insignificance,  of  States, 
we  have  given  quite  as  high  a  place  as  it  deserves  to  the  intel- 
lect of  the  State  ?  Have  we  not  thought  too  much  of  capa- 
cious harbors  or  teeming  inland,  navigable  rivers,  fleets  of 
merchant  ships  and  men-of-war,  fields  of  wheat,  plantations  of 
cotton  and  rice  and  sugar,  too  much  of  tariffs  and  drawbacks 
and  banks,  and  too  little,  too  little,  of  that  soul,  by  which  only, 
the  nation  shall  be  great  and  free  I  In  our  speculations  on 
knowledge  and  the  bettering  of  the  mind,  is  it  right  or  is  it 
wise  to  treat  them  as  useful  or  as  ornamental  individual  ac- 
complishments alone,  and  not  sometimes  also  to  think  of  them 
as  mines  of  national  riches  wealthier  than  Ormus  or  Ind,  as 
perennial  and  salient  springs  of  national  power,  as  founda- 
tions, laid  far  below  earthquake  or  frost,  of  a  towering  and 
durable  public  greatness  ?    After  all,  this  is  the  thought  I  would 

VOL.  I.  34 


398  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

present  to  you, — is  there  a  surer  way  of  achieving  the  boast  of 
Themistocles,  that  he  knew  how  to  make  a  small  State  a  great 
one,  than  by  making  it  wise,  bright,  knowing,  apprehensive, 
quick-witted,  ingenious,  thoughtful  ;  by  communicating  to  the 
whole  mass  of  its  people  the  highest  degree  of  the  most  im- 
proved kind  of  education  in  its  largest  sense,  which  is  com- 
patible with  the  system  of  practical  things ;  by  beginning  at 
the  cradle,  by  touching  the  infant  lip^vith  fire  from  heaven; 
by  perfecting  the  methods  of  the  free  schools,  and  of  all 
schools,  so  that  the  universal  understanding  shall  be  opened, 
kindled,  guided  at  its  very  birth,  and  set  forward,  without  the 
loss  of  a  day,  on  the  true  path  of  intellectual  life ;  by  taking  care 
that  all  the  food  of  which  the  soul  of  the  people  eats  shall  be 
wholesome  and  nutritious,  —  that  the  books  and  papers  which 
they  read,  the  sermons  and  speeches  which  they  hear,  shall 
possess  at  least  a  predominance  of  truth,  fact,  honesty,  of  right 
and  high  thought,  just  and  graceful  feeling ;  by  providing 
institutions  to  guide  the  mature  mind  to  the  heights  of  knowl- 
edge ;  by  collections  of  art  and  taste  that  shall  unfold  and  in- 
struct the  love  of  beauty ;  by  planting  betimes  the  gardens 
of  a  divine  philosophy,  and  spreading  out  the  pavilion  of  the 
Muses'? 

Let  us  think  a  little  of  mental  culture  as  the  true  local 
policy  of  Massachusetts. 

I  do  not  propose  to  repeat  anything  quite  so  general  and 
elementary,  as  that  easy  commonplace  which  my  Lord  Bacon 
has  illustrated  so  fondly  and  so  gorgeously,  that  learned  States 
have  been  usually  prosperous  States,  that  the  eras  of  lettered 
glory  have  been  eras  of  martial  and  civil  glory  too,  that  an 
instructed  people  has  been  for  the  most  part  a  rich,  laborious, 
energetic,  and  powerful  people.  The  historical  fact  is  undoubt- 
edly as  he  records  it ;  and  it  is  as  encouraging  as  it  is  true.  I 
wish  to  unfold  the  operations  and  uses  of  learning  and  culture 
in  a  little  more  detail,  and  with  a  more  confined  and  local 
reference  to  the  case  before  us.  Mental  culture,  as  the  true 
local  policy  of  Massachusetts,  I  have  said,  is  the  topic  to  which 
I  am  restricted. 

Let  me  say,  however,  in  the  first  place,  generally,  that  men- 
tal culture  should  contribute  to  our  power  and  our  considera- 
tion, by  communicating  or  by  developing  those  traits  of  char- 


POWER  OF  A  STATE  DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE,    ggg 

acter  that  lie  at  the  foundation  of  all  splendid  and  remarkable 
national  distinction.  All  the  greatness  which  is  recorded  in 
the  histories  or  the  epics  of  all  the  great  States  of  the  earth, 
all  the  long  series  of  their  virtues,  all  their  compass  of  policy, 
all  their  successful  contention  with  nature  or  with  man,  all 
their  great  works  well  performed,  all  their  great  dangers 
bravely  met,  all  the  great  perils  which  harass  them  resisted 
and  scattered,  all  their  industrial  renown,  their  agriculture, 
their  trade,  their  art,  their  science,  thei-r  libraries,  their  archi- 
tecture, all  their  contributions  to  thought,  to  humanity,  to 
progress,  all  the  charm  that  attaches  to  their  living  name  and 
that  lingers  on  the  capacious  tomb  into  which  at  last  they  go 
down,  —  all  this  you  trace  at  length  to  a  few  energetic  quali- 
ties of  mind  and  character.  It  does  not  spring  from  any  for- 
tuitous concurrence  of  any  quantity  of  mere  material  atoms  ;  it 
is  not  the  growth  of  any  number  of  hundred  years  of  rain 
and  sunshine  falling  upon  the  surface  of  the  earth  ;  it  is  not  a 
spontaneous  or  necessary  development  and  manifestation  ac- 
cording to  some  mechanical  and  organic  laws;  —  it  is  a  produc- 
tion of  the  human  mind  ;  it  is  a  creation  of  the  human  will ; 
it  is  just  the  nobler  and  larger  parts  of  man,  in  their  most 
appropriate  and  grandest  exemplifications.  All  of  it  rests  at 
last  on  enterprise,  energy,  curiosity,  perseverance,  fancy,  talent, 
—  loftily  directed,  heroically  directed.  A  few  simple,  com- 
manding traits,  a  dignified  aim,  a  high  conception  of  the 
true  glory  of  a  State,  —  with  a  little  land  and  water  to  work 
with,  —  and  you  have  a  great  nation.  I  approve,  therefore,  of 
these  expressions  :  the  Roman  mind,  the  Grecian  mind,  the 
Oriental  mind,  the  European  mind.  There  is  true  philoso- 
phy and  an  accurate  history  in  them.  They  penetrate  to  the 
true  criteria  which  distinguish  races,  —  the  mental  criteria. 
It  is  not  her  "  plumed  and  jewelled  turban,"  her  tea-plant  and 
her  cinnamon-plant,  her  caves,  temples,  and  groves  of  palms, 
her  exhaustless  fertility  of  soils,  her  accumulations  of  imperial 
treasures,  —  "barbaric  pearl  and  gold,"  as  in  a  dream  of  the 
Arabian  Nights, — by  which  I  recognize  the  primeval  East ;  it 
is  that  universal  childhood  of  reason,  —  not  a  day  older  than 
in  the  age  of  Sardanapalus  or  of  Ninus,  —  that  subjugated 
popular  character  bowed  to  the  earth  beneath  the  superincum- 
bent despotism   of  ages,  that  levity   and  vanity  and   effemi- 


^00  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES. 

nacy  of  the  privileged  few,  the  elahorate  luxury  in  which 
their  lives  are  steeped,  their  poetry  of  the  fancy,  their  long 
contemplations  on  nature  and  divinity,  on  which  the  whole 
intellect  of  the  East  might  brood  for  six  thousand  years  and 
not  bring  away  as  much  truth  as  is  taught  in  six  months  to  the 
oldest  boys  and  girls  in  our  high  schools  —  these  are  the  true 
characteristics  of  Asia  ;  these  it  is  which  solve  all  the  facts  of 
her  history ;  these  it  is  which,  put  into  action,  are  her  history 
itself.  And  then  passing  westward  to  Athens,  —  to  Attica, — 
is  it  her  area,  not  quite  so  large,  not  half  as  fertile,  as  our  own 
Rhode  Island,  her  mountain  steeps  sprinkled  with  dwarf  oaks 
and  fir  trees,  her  sun-burnt  valleys  covered  with  meagre  herb- 
age, her  wintry  torrents  dried  up  in  summer,  her  ohve  trees 
with  their  pale  leaf  and  pliable  branches  —  is  it  these  things 
which  seem  to  you  to  have  made  up  the  grace  of  Greece,  or 
was  it  that  flexible,  brave,  and  energetic  character,  so  prompt 
and  full  of  resource,  that  curiosity  and  perseverance  and 
fire,  that  love  of  Athens  and  of  glory,  that  subtilty  of  prac- 
tical understanding,  that  unrivalled  elegance  of  taste,  that 
teeming  and  beautiful  fancy,  —  were  not  these  the  traits,  and 
these  the  gifts  which  created  the  Athens  of  the  world  and  of 
all  ages, — the  one  and  only  Athens;  which  are  embodied  for 
us  in  the  Iliad  and  in  the  CEdipus  and  in  the  Parthenon,  in 
the  treatises  of  Aristotle,  the  dialogues  of  Plato,  the  orations 
of  Demosthenes,  —  that  eloquence  of  an  expiring  nation  ; 
which  stand  out  on  the  sculptured  page  of  Plutarch  in  the 
port  of  a  hundred  demi-gods  ;  which  created  her  to  be  a  teacher 
of  patriotism  and  a  light  to  liberty ;  which  won  for  her  in  her 
own  time  the  place  of  the  first  power  of  the  world,  and  seated 
her  with  a  more  rare  felicity  on  an  intellectual  throne,  from 
which  no  progress  of  the  species  may  cast  her  down  ? 

Now,  if  the  nations  dirter  by  their  minds,  the  right  kind  and 
the  right  degree  of  mental  culture  goes  to  the  very  springs  of 
the  national  nature.  It  applies  itself  directly  to  the  causa 
causans.  It  imparts  and  it  shapes  that  basis  of  qualities,  good 
or  bad,  large  or  little,  stone  or  wood,  or  hay  or  stubble,  —  on 
which  the  State  ascends  to  its  duration  of  a  day,  or  its  duration 
of  ages. 

I  do  not  say  that  mental  culture  alone  can  completely  educate 
a  nation, — far  from  it.    There  must  be  action.    There  must  be 


POWER  OF  A  STATE  DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE.    401 

labor.  There  must  be  difficulty.  There  must  be  the  baptism 
of  blood  and  of  fire.  If  there  is  a  not  very  fertile  soil  under 
foot,  a  not  very  spicy  air  around,  a  not  very  luxurious  heaven 
overhead, — it  is  all  the  better. 

Nor  is  it  every  kind  and  every  degree  of  mental  culture  that 
will  do  this  work.  It  must  be  such  culture  as  may  be  given 
to  an  employed,  a  grave,  an  earnest,  a  moral,  and  a  free 
people.  It  must  be  a  culture  of  the  reason  and  of  the  heart. 
It  must  not  be  a  culture  like  that  which  consoled  the  Paris  of 
Louis  XIV.,  which  consoles  the  Rome,  the  Florence,  and  the 
Venice  of  our  time  for  the  loss,  for  the  want,  of  liberty.  It 
must  not  be  a  culture  which  supphes  trifles  to  the  eye,  stimu- 
lations to  the  senses,  shows  to  the  fancy,  the  music  of  a  holi- 
day to  the  ear.  It  must  not  be  a  culture  which  turns  mortal 
life,  that  solemn  and  that  grand  reality  and  waking,  into  a 
fine  dream,  —  and  presents  death,  not  as  an  interruption  of 
profound  attachments,  earnest  labors,  and  serious  aims, — but 
as  a  drooping  of  the  garlands  of  a  feast  from  which  the 
guests  have  departed.  It  must  be  a  very  different  kind  of 
mental  culture  from  this.  It  must  be  one  which  shall  be 
so  directed  as  to  give  force,  power,  depth,  effectiveness,  to 
the  intellect  of  the  whole  people.  It  must  be  one  which,  be- 
ginning with  the  youngest  child,  shall  seek  to  improve  the 
heart  of  the  people,  shall  propose  to  the  infant  and  to  the  ado- 
lescent will  and  sensibilities,  great  examples,  as  well  as  whole- 
some counsel, — the  careers  of  nations  and  of  men  —  pure, 
rapid,  and  majestic,  as  rivers  —  grand,  swelling  sentiments  of 
liberty,  patriotism,  duty,  and  honor,  —  triumphant,  awful, 
splendid  deaths, —  the  Puritan  at  the  stake,  the  patriot  on  the 
scaffold,  those  who  fell  at  Thermopylse  in  obedience  to  the  law, 
those  who  were  buried  at  Plymouth  in  the  first,  awful  winter. 
Such  a  culture  as  this  it  is,  which,  blending  with  the  other 
discipline  of  public  and  private  life,  may  prove  the  mother 
and  nurse  of  a  great,  thoughtful,  and  free  people.  "  Remem- 
ber that  the  learning  of  the  few  is  despotism ;  the  learning  of 
the  multitude  is  liberty  ;  —  and  that  intelligent  and  principled 
liberty  is  fame,  wisdom,  and  power." 

In  the  next  place,  to  come  down  to  a  little  more  detail,  men- 
tal culture  may  contribute  to  our  security,  our  independence, 
our  local  aggrandizement,  by  informing  and  directing  our  labor. 

34* 


402  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

I  need  not  tell  you  that  labor  is  the  condition  —  I  will  not 
say,  of  our  greatness,  but — of  our  being.  What  were  Massa- 
chusetts without  itt  Lying  away  up  under  the  North  star, — 
our  winters  long  and  cold,  our  springs  backward  and  capri- 
cious, our  sky  ungenial,  our  coast  iron-bound,  —  our  soil  not 
over-productive,  barren  almost  altogether  of  the  great  staples 
of  commerce  which  adorn  and  enrich  the  wheat  fields  of  the 
central  regions,  the  ocean  prairies  of  the  West,  the  rice  grounds 
and  sugar  and  cotton  plantations  of  the  South, — our  area  small, 
—  our  numbers  few,  —  our  earlier  occupations  of  navigation 
and  fishing  divided  with  us  by  a  whole  world  at  peace, —  what 
is  there  for  us  but  labor, — labor  improhus,  labor  omnia  vincens? 
And  what  kind  of  labor  is  it  which  is  to  vanquish  the  antago- 
nist powers  of  nature,  and  build  the  palace  of  a  commodious 
and  conspicuous  national  life  over  against  these  granite  moun- 
tains and  this  unfruitful  sea  ?  Is  it  one  kind,  or  two  ;  or  is  it 
the  whole  vast  and  various  labor  of  intellectual  civilization, — not 
agriculture  only  and  trade  and  fishing,  but  the  whole  family  of 
robust  and  manly  arts,  which  furnish  occupation  to  everybody 
every  moment  of  working  time, — occupation,  to  every  taste  and 
talent  and  faculty,  that  which  it  likes  best,  that  which  improves 
it  most,  that  which  it  can  do  easiest, — occupation  for  the  strong 
and  the  weak,  the  bright  and  the  dull,  the  young  and  the  old, 
and  both  the  sexes, — occupation  for  winter  and  summer,  day- 
light and  lamplight,  cold  weather  and  warm,  wet  and  dry, — 
occupation  that  shall,  with  more  than  magnetic  touch,  seize  on, 
develop,  discipline,  and  perfect  every  capacity,  the  whole  mass 
of  ability,  gathering  up  all  fragments  of  mind  and  of  time, 
so  that  nothing  be  lost  —  is  not  this  the  labor  by  which  we 
are  to  grow  great  %  Is  not  this  the  labor  whi^h  is  to  be  to 
us  in  the  place  of  mines,  of  pearls,  of  vineyards,  of  cinnamon 
gardens,  of  enamelled  prairies,  of  wheat-fields,  of  rice-grounds 
and  cotton-fields  and  sugar-plantations  tilled  by  the  hands  of 
slaves  1  This  is  that  transmuting  power  without  which  we  are 
poor,  give  what  they  will  —  with  it  rich,  take  what  they  will 
away !  This  it  is,  labor,  ever  labor,  which,  on  the  land,  on  the 
sea,  in  the  fields,  in  all  its  applications,  with  all  its  helps,  from 
the  straw  bonnet  braided  or  plaited  by  the  fingers,  up  to  those 
vast  processes  in  which,  evoking  to  its  aid  the  powers  of  nature 
and  the  contrivances  of  ages  of  skill,  it  takes  the  shapeless  ore 


POWER  OF  A  STATE  DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE.     403 

from  its  bed,  the  fleece  from  the  felt,  the  cotton  from  the  pod, 
and  moulds  them  into  shapes  of  beauty  and  use  and  taste,  — 
the  clothing,  the  armor,  the  furniture  of  civilization,  sought  for 
in  all  the  markets  of  the  world  —  this  it  is  which  is  to  enrich 
and  decorate  this  unlovely  nature  where  our  lot  is  cast,  and  fit 
it  for  the  home  of  cultivated  man  ! 

Now,  if  the  highest  practicable  degree  of  mental  culture 
and  useful  knowledge  is  really  the  best  instrumentality  for 
instructing,  guiding,  vivifying,  helping  this  rough  power  of 
labor, — if  it  will  supply  the  chemistry  which  teaches  it  how  to 
enrich  barren  soils,  reclaim  and  spare  exhausted  soils,  irrigate 
parched  soils,  make  two  blades  of  grass  grow  where  one  grew 
before, — if  it  will  teach  it  how  to  build  tunnels  through  moun- 
tains or  beneath  beds  of  rivers  and  under  populous  towns,  how 
to  fill  or  bridge  the  valley,  how  to  stretch  out  and  fasten  in 
their  places  those  long  lines  of  iron  roads  which,  as  mighty 
rivers,  pour  the  whole  vast  inland  into  a  market  of  exchange 
for  what  trade  has  gathered  from  every  quarter  of  the  globe, — 
if  it  will  teach  it  better  how  to  plan  its  voyages  and  make  its 
purchases,  so  as  most  seasonably  to  meet  the  various  and  sud- 
den and  changing  demands  of  men  by  the  adequate  supply,  — 
if  it  can  teach  it  how  to  construct  its  tools,  how  to  improve 
old  ones  and  invent  new,  how  to  use  them,  by  what  shortest 
and  simplest  and  cheapest  process  it  can  arrive  at  the  largest 
results  of  production, — if  it  can  thus  instruct  and  thus  aid  that 
labor,  which  is  our  only  source  of  wealth,  and  of  all  material 
greatness, — if,  above  all,  when  rightly  guided  by  the  morality 
and  religion  which  I  assume  everywhere  to  preside  over  our 
education,  it  communicates  that  moral  and  prudential  character 
which  is  as  needful  and  as  available  for  thrift  as  for  virtue, 
thoughtful ness,  economy,  self-estimation,  sobriety,  respect  for 
others'  rights,  —  is  it  not  an  obvious  local  and  industrial  policy 
to  promote,  diffuse,  and  perfect  it  1 

Well,  I  must  not  spend  a  moment  in  the  proof  of  a  propo- 
sition so  palpable  as  this.  I  say  there  is  not  an  occupation  of 
civilized  life,  from  the  making  of  laws  and  poems  and  histo- 
ries, down  to  the  opening  of  New  Jersey  oysters  with  a  broken 
jack-knife,  that  is  not  better  done  by  a  bright  than  a  dull  man, 
by  a  quick  than  a  slow  mind,  by  an  instructed  man  than  a 
gross  or  simple  man,  by  a  prudent,  thoughtful,  and  careful 


404  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

man,  than  by  a  light  and  foolish  one.  Every  one  of  these 
occupations  —  in  other  words,  the  universal  labor  of  civiliza- 
tion —  involves,  demands,  is^  a  mental  effort,  putting  forth  a 
physical  effort ;  and  you  do  but  only  go  to  the  fountain-head, 
as  you  ought  to  do,  when  you  seek,  by  an  improved  culture 
and  a  better  knowledge,  to  give  force  and  power  to  the  impe- 
rial capacity  behind,  and  to  set  a  thoughtful  and  prudent  spirit 
to  urge  and  to  guide  it.  You  say  that  you  bestow  a  new 
power  on  man,  when  you  give  him  an  improved  machine. 
Do  you  not  bestow  a  more  available  gift,  when  you  bestow  on 
him  an  improvement  of  that  mental  and  moral  nature  which 
makes,  improves,  and  uses,  profitably  or  unprofitably,  all 
machines  1  In  one  case  you  give  him  a  limited  and  definite 
amount  of  coined  money,  in  the  other  a  mine  of  gold  or 
silver.  Nay,  what  avails  the  improved  machine  to  the  un- 
taught mind  \  Put  a  forty-feet  telescope,  with  its  mirrors  of 
four  feet  diameter,  into  the  hands  of  a  savage,  whether  in 
civilized  or  Indian  life,  and  he  sees  about  as  much  as  our 
children  see  through  a  glass  prism,  — gaudy  outlines,  purple  and 
orange  and  green  crossing  and  blending  on  everything.  Let 
the  exercised  mind  of  Herschel  lift  that  same  tube  from  the 
Cape  of  Hope  toward  the  southern  sky,  and  the  architecture 
of  the  heavens  —  not  made  with  hands  —  ascends  before 
him, — 

"  Glory  beyond  all  glory  ever  seen 
By  waking  sense,  or  by  the  dreaming  soul !  " 

firmaments  of  fixed  stars, — of  which  all  the  stars  in  our  heaven, 
all  our  eye  takes  in,  form  but  one  firmament,  one  constellation 
only  of  a  universe  of  constellations,  separated  by  unsounded 
abysses,  yet  holden  together  by  invisible  bands,  —  moving  to- 
gether, perhaps,  about  some  centre,  to  which  the  emancipated 
soul  may  in  some  stage  of  being  ascend,  but  which  earthly 
science  shall  vanish  away  without  seeing  ! 

Such  in  kind,  not  of  course  in  degree,  is  the  additional 
power  you  give  to  labor  by  improving  the  intellectual  and 
prudential  character  which  informs  and  guides  it. 

It  is  within  the  knowledge  of  you  all  that  Mr.  Mann,  in 
one  of  those  reports  to  the  Board  of  Education  to  which  the 
community  is  so  much  indebted,  I  believe  the  fifth,  has  devel- 


POWER  OF  A  STATE  DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE.     405 

oped  this  thought  with  that  keenness  of  analysis  and  clearness 
and  force  of  expression  for  which  he  is  remarkable.  You 
will  be  particularly  struck  with  the  proofs  which  he  has  there 
collected  from  several  most  intelligent  and  respectable  superin- 
tendents or  proprietors  of  manufacturing  establishments,  show- 
ing by  precise  statistical  details,  derived  from  a  long  course  of 
personal  observation,  that  throughout  the  whole  range  of  me- 
chanical industry  the  well  educated  operative  does  more  work, 
does  it  better,  wastes  less,  uses  his  allotted  portion  of  machin- 
ery to  more  advantage  and  more  profit,  earns  more  money, 
commands  more  confidence,  rises  faster,  rises  higher,  from 
the  lower  to  the  more  advanced  positions  of  his  employ- 
ments, than  the  uneducated  operative.  And  now,  how  inter- 
estingly and  directly  this  fact  connects  itself  with  my  subject, 
I  need  not  pause  to  show.  You  speak  of  tariffs  to  protect 
your  industry  from  the  redundant  capital,  the  pauper  labor, 
the  matured  skill,  the  aggressive  and  fitful  policy,  of  other 
nations.  You  cannot  lay  a  tariff  under  the  Constitution,  and 
you  cannot  compel  Congress  to  do  so ;  but  you  can  try  to  rear 
a  class  of  working-men  who  may  help  you  to  do  something 
without  one.  You  speak  of  specific  duties,  and  discriminat- 
ing duties,  and  what  not !     Are  you  sure  that  if  everybody, 

—  every  mincl^  I  should  say,  —  which  turns  a  wheel  or  makes 
a  pin  in  this  great  workshop  of  ours,  all  full  from  basement 
to  attic  with  the  various  hum  of  free  labor,  was  educated 
up  to  the  utmost   degree   compatible  with   his  place   in    life, 

—  that  this  alone  would  not  be  equal  to  at  least  a  uniform 
duty  of  about  twenty-eight  per  cent,  ad  valorem,  all  on  the 
home  value  ?  You  must  have  more  skill  you  say,  more  skill 
than  now,  or  you  must  have  governmental  protection.  Very 
well  ;  go  to  work  to  make  it,  then.  You  manufacture 
almost  everything.  Suppose  you  go  into  the  manufacture 
of  skill.  Try  your  hand  at  the  skill  business.  Skill  in  the 
arts  is  mental  power  exercised  in  arts,  that  is  all.  Begin 
by  making  mental  power.  You  can  do  that  as  easily  as  you 
can  make  satinets  or  fustian  or  chain-cable.  You  have  a  great 
deal  of  money.  The  world  never  saw  such  a  provision  for 
popular  and  higher  education  as  you  could  make  in  a  year  in 
Massachusetts,  and  not  feel  it.  Consider  how  true  and  fine  in 
this  application  would  the  words  of  the  charitable  man's  epi- 


406  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

taph  be :  "  What  I  spent  I  had.  What  I  kept  I  lost.  What 
I  gave  away  remains  with  me !  " 

By  what  precise  course  of  instruction,  elementary  and  ad- 
vanced, by  what  happier  methods,  by  what  easier  access  to 
the  mind  and  heart,  by  "  what  drugs,  what  charms,  what  con- 
juration, and  what  mighty  magic,"  this  heightened  mental 
ability  and  accomplishment  may  be  achieved,  which  I  know 
is  practicable,  and  which  I  know  is  power,  —  it  is  not  within 
my  plan,  if  I  could,  to  suggest.  I  may  be  permitted  to  re- 
member, that  the  first  time  I  ever  ventured  to  open  my  lips  in 
a  deliberative  body,  I  had  the  honor  to  support  a  bill  in  the 
House  of  Representatives,  in  Massachusetts,  providing  for 
educating  teachers  of  common  schools.  I  should  be  perfectly 
willing  to  open  them  for  the  last  time,  in  the  same  place  in 
support  of  the  same  proposition  exactly.  I  can  conceive  of  a 
body  of  teachers,  —  I  know  individuals  now,  —  who  would  do 
this  great  work  for  Massachusetts,  as  patriotism  and  religion 
would  wish  it  done,  —  who  would  take  the  infant  capacity  of 
the  people,  as  it  came  to  life,  into  their  arms,  and  breathe  into  it 
the  quickening  breath, — who  receiving  it,  bathed  and  blessed 
by  a  mother's  love,  would  apply  to  it,  instead  of  stripes,  the 
gentle,  irresistible  magnet  of  scientific  instruction,  opening  it  as 
a  flower  to  light  and  rain,  —  who,  when  the  intellectual  appe- 
tite was  begun  to  be  developed,  would  feed  it  with  the  angels' 
food  of  the  best  mental  and  moral  culture  which  years  of  re- 
flection and  experience  and  interchange  of  thought  could  sug- 
gest, —  would  carry  forward  the  heart,  and  the  reason  to- 
gether, —  would  fit  the  whole  bright  tribe  of  childhood  as 
completely,  in  so  far  as  intellect  and  acquisition  are  concerned, 
for  beginning  to  wrestle  with  the  practical  realities  of  life  at 
fourteen,  as  now  at  one-and-twenty. 

To  such  teachers  I  leave  details,  with  one  suggestion  only, 
—  that  I  would  not  take  the  Bible  from  the  schools  so  long  as 
a  particle  of  Plymouth  Rock  was  left,  large  enough  to  make  a 
gun-flint  of,  or  as  long  as  its  dust  floated  in  the  air.  I  would 
have  it  read  not  only  for  its  authoritative  revelations,  and 
its  commands  and  exactions,  obligatory  yesterday,  to-day,  and 
forever,  but  for  its  English,  for  its  literature,  for  its  pathos, 
for  its  dim  imagery,  its  sayings  of  consolation  and  wisdom  and 


POWER  OF  A  STATE  DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE.    407 

universal  truth,  —  achieving  how  much  more  than  the  effect 
which  Milton  ascribes  to  music : 

"  Nor  wanting  power  to  mitigate  and  swage, 
With  solemn  touches,  troubled  thoughts,  and  chase 
Anguish  and  doubt  and  fear  and  sorrow  and  pain 
From  mortal,  or  immortal  minds." 

Perhaps  as  striking  an  illustration  on  a  large  scale  as  could 
be  desired,  of  the  connection  between  the  best  directed  and 
most  skilful  labor  and  the  most  cultivated  and  most  powerful 
intellect,  is  afforded  by  the  case  of  England.  British  industry, 
as  a  whole,  is  among  the  most  splendid  and  extraordinary 
things  in  the  history  of  man.  When  you  consider  how  small 
a  work-bench  it  has  to  occupy  altogether,  —  a  little  stormy 
island  bathed  in  almost  perpetual  fogs,  without  silk,  or  cotton, 
or  vineyards,  or  sunshine ;  and  then  look  at  that  agriculture 
so  scientific  and  so  rewarded,  that  vast  net-work  of  internal  in- 
tercommunication, the  docks,  merchant-ships,  men-of-war,  the 
trade  encompassing  the  globe,  the  flag  on  which  the  sun  never 
sets,  — when  you  look  above  all  at  that  vast  body  of  useful  and 
manly  art,  —  not  directed  like  the  industry  of  France  —  the 
industry  of  vanity  —  to  making  pier-glasses  and  air-balloons 
and  gobelin  tapestry  and  mirrors,  to  arranging  processions 
and  chiselling  silver  and  twisting  gold  into  filagrees,  —  but  to 
clothing  the  people,  to  the  manufacture  of  woollen,  cotton, 
and  linen  cloth,  of  railroads  and  chain-cables  and  canals  and 
anchors  and  achromatic  telescopes,  and  chronometers  to  keep 
the  time  at  sea,  —  when  you  think  of  the  vast  aggregate  mass 
of  their  manufacturing  and  mechanical  production,  which  no 
statistics  can  express,  and  to  find  a  market  for  which  she  is 
planting  colonies  under  every  constellation,  and  by  intimida- 
tion, by  diplomacy,  is  knocking  at  the  door  of  every  market- 
house  upon  the  earth,  —  it  is  really  difficult  to  restrain  our 
admiration  of  such  a  display  of  energy,  labor,  and  genius,  win- 
ning bloodless  and  innocent  triumphs  everywhere,  giving  to 
the  age  we  live  in  the  name  of  the  age  of  the  industry  of  the 
people.  Now,  the  striking  and  the  instructive  fact  is,  that  ex- 
actly hi  that  island  workshop,  by  this  very  race  of  artisans,  of 
coal-heavers  and  woollen  manufacturers,  of  machinists  and 
blacksmiths  and  ship-carpenters,  there  has  been  produced,  and 
embodied  forever,  in  words  that  will  outlast  the  mountains  as 


408  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

well  as  the  Pyramids,  a  literature  which,  take  it  for  all  in  all, 
is  the  richest,  most  profound,  most  instructive,  combining 
more  spirituality  with  more  common  sense,  springing  from 
more  capacious  souls,  conveying  a  better  wisdom,  more  con- 
formable to  the  truth  in  man,  in  nature,  and  in  human  life, 
than  the  literature  of  any  nation  that  ever  existed.  That  same 
race,  side  by  side  with  the  unparalleled  growth  of  its  industry, 
produces  Shakspeare,  Milton,  Bacon,  and  Newton,  all  four  at 
the  summit  of  human  thought,  —  and  then,  just  below  these  un- 
approachable fixed  lights,  a  whole  firmament  of  glories,  lesser 
than  they,  as  all  created  intelligence  must  be,  yet  in  whose 
superior  rays  the  age  of  Augustus,  of  Leo  X.,  of  Louis  XIV., 
all  but  the  age  of  Pericles,  the  culture  of  Greece,  pale  and 
fade.  And  yet  the  literature  of  England  is  not  the  only, 
scarcely  the  most  splendid,  fruit  or  form  of  the  mental  power 
and  the  energetic  character  of  England.  That  same  race, 
along  with  their  industry,  along  with  their  literature,  has 
built  up  a  jurisprudence  which  is  for  substance  our  law 
to-day,  —  has  constructed  the  largest  mercantile  and  war 
navy,  and  the  largest  commercial  empire  with  its  pillars 
encircling  the  globe,  that  men  ever  saw,  —  has  gained 
greater  victories  on  sea  and  land  than  any  power  in  the 
world,  —  has  erected  the  smallest  spot  to  the  most  imperial 
ascendancy  recorded  in  history.  The  administrative  triumphs 
of  her  intellect  are  as  conspicuous  as  her  imaginative  and 
her  speculative  triumphs. 

Such  is  mental  power.  Mark  its  union  with  labor  and 
with  all  greatness ;  deduce  the  law ;  learn  the  lesson ;  see 
how  you,  too,  may  grow  great.  Such  an  industry  as  that  of 
England  demanded  such  an  intellect  as  that  of  England. 
Sic  vobis  etiam  itur  ad  astra  !  That  way  to  you,  also, 
glory  lies  ! 

I  have  now  been  speaking  of  a  way  in  which  mental  culture 
may  help  your  labor  to  grow  independent  of  governmental 
policy,  and  thus  to  disregard  and  endure  what  you  cannot  con- 
trol. But  may  not  the  same  great  agent  do  more  than  this  ? 
May  it  not,  not  merely  enable  you  to  bear  an  administrative 
policy  which  you  cannot  prevent,  but  enable  you  to  return  the 
more  grateful  power  of  influencing  national  councils  and  na- 


POWER  OF  A  STATE  DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE.    409 

tional    policy,  long   after  the   numerical  control  has   gone   to 
dwell  in  the  imperial  valley  of  the  Vnesi  ? 

I  will  not  pause  to  say  so  ohvious  a  thing,  as  that  those 
you  call  public  men,  those  whom  you  send  to  urge  your  claims 
and  consult  your  interests  in  the  national  assembly,  are  better 
fitted  for  their  task  by  profound  and  liberal  studies.  This 
were  too  obvious  a  thought ;  and  yet,  I  cannot  help  holding 
up  to  your  notice  a  very  splendid  exemplification  of  this,  in 
that  "  old  man  eloquent,"  who  counts  himself  to  have  risen 
from  the  Presidency  to  represent  the  people  in  the  House  of 
Representatives.  See  there  what  the  most  universal  acquisi- 
tions will  do  for  the  most  powerful  talents.  How  those  vast 
accumulations  of  learning  are  fused,  moulded,  and  projected, 
by  the  fiery  tide  of  mind  !  How  that  capacious  memory,  real- 
izing half  the  marvels  of  Pascal  and  of  Cicero,  yields  up  in  a 
moment  the  hived  wisdom  of  a  life  of  study  and  a  life  of 
action,  —  the  happiest  word,  the  aptest  literary  illustration,  the 
exact  detail,  the  precise  rhetorical  instrument  the  case  de- 
mands,—  how  it  yields  all  up  instantly  to  the  stimulated,  fervid, 
unquenchable  faculties  !  How  little  of  dilettanteism  and  parade, 
and  vagueness  of  phrase  and  mysticism  of  idea;  how  clear, 
available,  practical,  direct,  —  one  immense  torrent,  rushing  as 
an  arrow,  all  the  way  from  the  perennial  source  to  the  hun- 
dred mouths  ! 

If  mental  culture  did  nothing  for  you  but  send  such  men  to 
consult  on  your  welfare  in  the  councils  of  the  nation,  it  would 
do  much  to  preserve  your  political  ascendancy.  But  look  at 
this  matter  a  little  more  largely.  Suppose  that  by  succession 
of  effort,  by  study,  by  time,  you  could  really  carry  up  the  lit- 
erary character  of  Massachusetts  to  as  high  a  degree  of  supe- 
riority to  the  general  literary  character  of  these  States,  as  that 
of  Attica  compared  with  the  other  States  of  Greece  in  the  age 
after  the  Persian  war ;  suppose  the  school-boy  boast  could  be 
achieved,  and  you  were  the  Athens  of  America ;  suppose  the 
libraries,  the  schools,  the  teachers,  the  scholars,  were  here,  the 
galleries  of  art,  the  subtle  thinkers,  the  weavers  of  systems, 
the  laurelled  brow,  "  the  vision  and  the  faculty  divine ;  "  sup- 
pose the  whole  boily  of  our  written  productions,  from  news- 
papers upwards  or  downwards,  had  obtained  a  recognized 
superiority  over  those  of  any  other  region,  were  purer,  better 

VOL.   I.  35 


4.10  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

expressed,  more  artist-like,  of  wider  compass ;  suppose  that 
the  general  taste  of  the  world  and  the  nation  should  authen- 
ticate and  settle  all  this, — would  it  or  would  it  not  profit  you  as 
an  instrument  of  political  ascendancy  ]  It  would  be  soothing 
to  our  pride,  certainly.  Perhaps  that  would  not  be  all. 
Knowledge  is  power  as  well  as  fame.  You  could  not,  per- 
haps, hold  the  lettered  and  moral  relation  to  America  which  I 
have  sketched — it  is,  alas  !  a  sketch  —  without  holding  a  pohti- 
cal  relation  in  some  degree  of  correspondence  with  it.  Think 
of  that  subtle,  all-embracing,  plastic,  mysterious,  irresistible 
thing  called  public  opinion,  the  god  of  this  lower  world,  and 
consider  what  a  State,  or  a  cluster  of  States,  of  marked  and 
acknowledged  literary  and  intellectual  lead  might  do  to  color 
and  shape  that  opinion  to  their  will.  Consider  how  winged 
are  words,  how  electrical,  light-like  the  speed  of  thought,  how 
awful  human  sympathy.  Consider  how  soon  a  wise,  a  beau- 
tiful thought  uttered  here,  —  a  sentiment  of  liberty  perhaps, 
or  word  of  succor  to  the  oppressed,  of  exhortations  to  duty,  to 
patriotism,  to  glory,  the  refutation  of  a  sophism,  the  unfolding 
of  a  truth  for  which  the  nation  may  be  better,  —  how  soon  a 
word  fitly  or  wisely  spoken  here  is  read  on  the  Upper  Missis- 
sippi and  beneath  the  orange-groves  of  Florida,  all  through 
the  unequalled  valley ;  how  vast  an  audience  it  gains,  into  how 
many  bosoms  it  has  access,  on  how  much  good  soil  the  seed 
may  rest  and  spring  to  life,  how  easily  and  fast  the  fine  spirit 
of  truth  and  beauty  goes  all  abroad  upon  the  face  of  the  world. 
Consider  that  the  meditations  of  a  single  closet,  the  pamphlet 
of  a  single  writer,  have  inflamed  or  composed  nations  and 
armies,  shaken  thrones,  determined  the  policy  of  governments 
for  years  of  war  or  peace.  Consider  that  the  Drapier's  Letters 
of  Swift  set  Ireland  on  fire,  cancelled  the  patent  of  King  Wil- 
liam, inspired  or  kept  breathing  the  spirit  which  in  a  later  day 
the  eloquence  of  Grattan  evoked  to  national  life.  Burke's 
Reflections  on  the  French  Revolution  began  that  great  con- 
tention of  nations  that  lasted  a  quarter  of  a  century,  till  the 
sun  went  down  on  the  drenched  field  of  Waterloo.  The 
sarcasms  of  Voltaire  had  torn  away  its  grandeur  from  the 
throne,  and  its  sacredness  from  the  kindred  church,  or  pop- 
ular violence  might  not  have  blown  them  both  into  the  air. 


POWER  OF  A  STATE  DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE.  4,11 

He  who  guides   public  opinion   moves   the  hand  tliat   moves 
the  world  ! 

There  is  an  influence  which  I  would  rather  see  Massachu- 
setts exert  on  her  sisters  of  this  Union,  than  see  her  furnish  a 
President  every  twelve  years  or  command  a  majority  on  any 
division  in  Congress ;  and  that  is  such  an  influence  as  Athens 
exerted  on  the  taste  and  opinion  first  of  Greece,  then  of  Rome, 
then  of  the  universal  modern  world  ;  such  as  she  will  exert 
while  the  race  of  man  exists.  This,  of  all  the  kinds  of  em- 
pire, was  most  grateful  and  innocent  and  glorious  and  immor- 
tal. This  was  won  by  no  bargain,  by  no  fraud,  by  no  war  of 
the  Peloponnesus,  by  the  shedding  of  no  human  blood.  It 
would  rest  on  admiration  of  the  beautiful,  the  good,  the  true 
in  art,  in  poetry,  in  thought ;  and  it  would  last  while  the  emo- 
tions, its  object,  were  left  in  a  human  soul.  It  w^ould  turn  the 
eye  of  America  hitherwards  with  love,  gratitude,  and  tears, 
such  as  those  with  which  we  turn  to  the  walk  of  Socrates 
beneath  the  plane-tree,  now  sere,  the  summer  hour  of  Cicero, 
the  prison  into  wdiich  philosophy  descended  to  console  the 
spirit  of  Boethius,  that  room  through  whose  opened  window 
came  into  the  ear  of  Scott,  as  he  died,  the  murmur  of  the 
gentle  Tweed, — love,  gratitude,  and  tears,  such  as  we  all  yield 
to  those  whose  immortal  wisdom,  whose  divine  verse,  whose 
eloquence  of  heaven,  whose  scenes  of  many-colored  life,  have 
held  up  the  show  of  things  to  the  insatiate  desires  of  the 
mind,  have  taught  us  how  to  live  and  how  to  die  !  Herein 
were  power,  herein  were  influence,  herein  were  security. 
Even  in  the  madness  of  civil  war  it  might  survive  for  refuge 
and  defence  ! 

Lift  not  thy  spear  against  the  Muse's  bower. 

The  great  Einathian  conqueror  bid  spare 

The  house  of  Pindarus,  when  temple  and  tower 

Went  to  the  ground.     And  the  repeated  air 

Of  sad  Electra's  poet  had  the  power 

To  save  the  Athenian  walls  from  ruin  bare. 

And  now  if  any  one,  any  child  of  Massachusetts,  looking 
round  him  and  forward,  trying  to  cast  the  horoscope  of  his 
local  fortunes,  feels  a  sentiment  of  despondency  upon  his 
spirit,  and  thinks  all  this  exhortation  to  mental  culture  as  a 


41£  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

means  of  retaining  endangered  or  receding  power  to  be  but 
the  dream  of  pedantry,  and  begins  to  think  that  if  he  would 
belong  to  a  great  State,  an  historical  State,  an  ascendant 
State,  he  must  be  setting  out  toward  the  tranquil  sea,  —  to 
him  I  say,  turn  back  to  her  origin,  and  be  of  thy  unfilial  fears 
ashamed !  Thou,  a  descendant  of  that  ancestry  of  heroes,  and 
already  only  in  the  two  hundredth  year,  afraid  that  the  State 
is  dying  out !  Do  you  forget  that  it  took  two  hundred  years 
of  training  in  England,  in  Scotland,  in  Geneva,  in  the  Nether- 
lands,—  two  hundred  years  of  persecution,  of  life  passed  in 
exile  and  in  chains,  of  death  triumphing  over  fires,  —  to  form 
out  of  the  general  mind  of  England  these  one  hundred  men 
and  women,  our  fathers  and  mothers,  who  landed  on  the  Rock, 
and  do  you  think  a  plant  so  long  in  rearing  has  begun  already 
to  decay  ] 

It  took  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  more,  —  one  long  war, 
one  long  labor,  one  long  trial,  one  long  sorrow,  as  we  count 
sorrow,  years  of  want  and  disease,  of  bereavements,  of  battle, 
of  thought,  of  every  heroical  faculty  tasked  by  every  heroical 
labor,  one  long,  varied,  searching,  tremendous  educational 
process,  just  the  process  to  evolve  and  mature  these  traits  on 
which  a  commonwealth  might  repose  for  a  thousand  years  of 
glory,  —  it  took  all  this  more  to  train  them  for  the  loftier 
sphere,  the  grander  duties,  the  more  imperial  and  historical 
renown,  of  independence  and  union  ;  and  do  you  think  that 
the  energies  of  such  a  nature,  so  tempered  and  refined,  are 
become  exhausted  in  half  a  century  1  Who  believes  in  such 
an  idle  expenditure  of  preparation  ?  Why,  that  would  be  to 
hew  out  a  throne  of  granite  on  the  side  of  everlasting  hills 
by  the  labor  of  generations,  for  one  old  king,  the  last  of  his 
line,  to  die  on  !  No ;  be  true  to  your  origin  and  to  your- 
selves, and  dynasties  shall  fill  by  successive  accessions  the 
prepared  and  steadfast  seat. 

Doubtless  the  Pilgrim  race,  —  the  Puritan  race,  —  shall 
go  everywhere,  and  possess  largely  of  everything.  The  free 
North-west,  especially,  will  be  theirs ;  the  skies  of  Ontario 
and  Erie  and  Michigan,  the  prairies  of  Illinois,  the  banks  of 
the  river  of  beauty,  the  mines  of  Wisconsin  and  Iowa,  shall 
be  theirs.     But  the  old   homestead,  and   the   custody  of  the 


POWER  OF  A  STATE  DEVELOPED  BY  MENTAL  CULTURE.  4,13 

Rock,  are  in  the  family  also.  Nearest  of  all  the  children  to 
the  scenes  of  the  fathers'  earthly  life,  be  it  ours  the  longest 
and  the  most  fondly  to  bear  their  names,  and  hold  fast  their 
virtues.  Be  it  ours,  especially,  to  purify,  enrich,  adorn  this 
State,  —  our  own,  our  native  land,  —  our  fathers'  monument, 
—  our  fathers'  praise  ! 


35* 


THE  POSITION  AND  FUNCTIONS  OF  THE  AMER- 
ICAN BAR,  AS  AN  ELEMENT  OF  CONSERVA- 
TISM IN   THE   STATE: 

AN  ADDRESS  DELIVEBKD  BEFORE  THE  LAW  SCHOOL  IN  CAMBRIDGE,  JULY  3,  1845. 


The  speaker,  on  one  of  the  anniversaries  observed  by  a 
literary  association  in  this  ancient  university,  congratulated 
himself,  as  he  cast  his  eye  over  an  audience  of  taste  and 
learning,  that  in  such  company  he  could  have  no  temptation 
to  stray  beyond  the  walls  of  the  academy,  or  within  the  noise 
of  the  city  and  the  forum.  I  have  supposed  that  our  way, 
on  the  contrary,  lies  directly  into  the  city  and  the  forum.  I 
have  assumed  that  in  calling  me  to  this  duty  you  expected 
and  designed  that  I  should  consider  some  topic  of  a  strictly 
professional  interest.  All  the  objects  and  proprieties  of  the 
hour  require  me  to  do  so.  It  is  a  seminary  of  the  law,  to 
which  the  day  is  set  apart.  It  is  to  students  of  the  law, 
assembled  in  the  presence  of  teachers  of  the  law,  —  your  mas- 
ters and  my  own,  —  and  composing  with  them  a  school  wor- 
thy to  begin  a  new  era  of  the  enriched  and  various  jurispru- 
dence of  America,  —  it  is  to  the  members  of  a  profession, 
that  I  address  myself,  —  all  of  you  immersed  in  its  intricate 
studies,  and  fired  by  what  Milton  has  called  its  "  prudent  and 
heavenly  contemplations."  Some  of  you  just  going  forth  to 
attempt  its  practice,  to  do  its  hard  work,  to  kindle  with  its 
excitations,  to  be  agitated  by  its  responsibilities,  to  sound 
its  depths  and  shoals  of  honor,  —  and  it  is  therefore  of  things 
professional  that  I  seem  to  be  commanded  to  speak.  Doubt- 
less, there  is  somewhat  in  the  spirit  of  the  place  that  might 
suggest  the  wish  at  least  for  matter  more  "airy  and  delicious." 
I  will  not  deny  that  I  never  visit  these  scenes,  so  dear  to  learn- 


CONSERVATIVE   FORCE    OF   THE   AMERICAN  BAR.     415 

ing,  without  a  very  vehement  impulse  to  be  disengag^ed  for 
the  day  from  all  the  idle  business  of  the  law  and  of  life,  — 
from  litigious  terms,  fast  contentions,  and  the  dream  of  "  flow- 
ing fees,"  —  from  facts  sometimes  without  interest,  and  rules 
sometimes  without  sense, — to  be  disengaged  from  all  this,  and 
to  abandon  myself  evermore  to  the  vernal  fancies  and  sensa- 
tions of  your  time  of  life,  to  the  various  banquet  of  general 
knowledge  on  which  so  many  spirits  have  been  fed,  to  all 
those  fair  ideals  which  once  had  power  to  touch  and  fill  the 
heart.  The  sentiment  is  not  very  professional ;  and  yet  it 
is  not  wholly  uncountenanced  by  authority.  You  remember 
that  it  was  the  great  Chancellor  d'Aguesseau,  who,  full  of 
fame  as  of  years,  at  the  very  summit  of  the  jurisprudence 
of  France,  the  most  learned  of  her  orators,  the  most  elo- 
quent of  her  lawyers,  —  in  the  confidence  of  a  letter  to 
his  son,  could  confess  that  literature  had  always  been  to  him 
a  sort  of  mental  debauch  into  which  he  perpetually  and  se- 
cretly relapsed.  "  I  was  born,"  he  said,  "  in  the  republic  of 
elegant  letters  ;  there  I  grew  to  be  a  man  ;  there  I  passed 
the  happiest  years  of  my  life  ;  and  to  it  I  come  back  as  a 
wanderer  on  sea  revisits  his  native  land."  But  these  were 
the  confessions  of  an  illustrious  reputation,  which  could  af- 
ford to  make  them.  Win  his  fame,  attain  his  years,  emulate 
his  polished  eloquence,  do  as  much  for  the  law  of  a  free 
country  as  he  did  for  that  of  the  despotism  of  Louis  XIV. 
and  the  regency,  and  you  may  make  the  same  confession  too. 
Meantime,  even  here  and  to-day  our  theme,  our  aim,  is  the 
law.  The  literary  influences  and  solicitations  of  the  scene 
and  hour  we  resist  and  expel.  We  put  them,  one  and  all, 
out  of  court.     Academiam  istam  exoremus  ut  sileat  ! 

There  are  reasons  without  number  why  we  should  love  and 
honor  our  noble  profession,  and  should  be  grateful  for  the 
necessity  or  felicity  or  accident  which  called  us  to  its  service. 

But  of  these  there  is  one,  I  think,  which,  rightly  appre- 
hended, ought  to  be  uppermost  in  every  lawyer's  mind,  on 
which  he  cannot  dwell  too  thoughtfully  and  too  anxiously  ;  to 
which  he  should  resort  always  to  expand  and  erect  his  spirit 
and  to  keep  himself  up,  if  I  may  say  so,  to  the  height  of  his 
calling ;  from  which  he  has  a  right  to  derive,  in  every  moment 
of  weariness  or  distaste  or  despondency,  —  not  an  occasion  of 


416  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

pride,  but,  —  ceaseless  admonitions  to  duty  and  incentives  to 
hope.  And  that  reason  is,  that  better  than  any  other,  or  as 
well  as  any  other  position  or  business  in  the  whole  subordina- 
tion of  life,  his  profession  enables  him  to  serve  the  State.  As 
well  as  any  other,  better  than  any  other  profession  or  business 
or  sphere,  more  directly,  more  palpably,  it  enables  and  com- 
mands him  to  perform  certain  grand  and  difficult  and  indis- 
pensable duties  of  patriotism,  —  certain  grand,  difficult  and 
indispensable  duties  to  our  endeared  and  common  native  land. 

Turning  for  the  present  then,  from  other  aspects  of  the 
profession,  survey  it  under  this.  Certainly  it  presents  no 
nobler  aspect.  It  presents  none  so  well  adapted  —  I  do  not 
say,  to  make  us  vain  of  it,  but  —  to  make  us  fit  for  it,  to 
make  us  equal  to  it,  to  put  us  on  turning  it  to  its  utmost 
account,  and  working  out  its  whole  vast  and  various  and  high- 
est utilities.  It  raises  it  from  a  mere  calling  by  which  bread, 
fame,  and  social  place  may  be  earned,  to  a  function  by  which 
the  republic  may  be  served.  It  raises  it  from  a  dexterous 
art  and  a  subtle  and  flexible  science,  —  from  a  cunning  logic, 
a  gilded  rhetoric,  and  an  ambitious  learning,  wearing  the  pur- 
ple robe  of  the  sophists,  and  letting  itself  to  hire,  —  to  the 
dignity  of  almost  a  department  of  government,  —  an  instru- 
mentality of  the  State  for  the  well-being  and  conservation  of 
the  State.  Consider  then  the  position  and  functions  of  the 
American  Bar  in  the  Commonwealth. 

I  make  haste  to  say  that  it  is  not  at  all  because  the  legal 
profession  may  be  thought  to  be  peculiarly  adapted  to  fit  a 
man  for  what  is  technically  called  "  public  life,"  and  to  afford 
him  a  ready,  too  ready  an  introduction  to  it, — it  is  not  on  any 
such  reason  as  this  that  I  shall  attempt  to  maintain  the  sen- 
timent which  I  have  advanced.  It  is  not  by  enabling  its 
members  to  leave  it  and  become  the  members  of  a  distinct 
profession, — it  is  not  thus  that  in  the  view  which  I  could  wish 
to  exhibit,  it  serves  the  State.  It  is  not  the  jurist  turned 
statesman  whom  I  mean  to  hold  up  to  you  as  useful  to  the 
republic,  —  although  jurists  turned  statesmen  have  illustrated 
every  page,  every  year  of  our  annals,  and  have  taught  how 
admirably  the  school  of  the  law  can  train  the  mind  and 
heart  for  the  service  of  constitutional  liberty  and  the  achieve- 
ment of  civil  honor.      It  is  not  the  jurist  turned  statesman  ; 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE   OF   THE   AMERICAN  BAR. 


417 


it  is  the  jurist  as  jurist;  it  is  the  jurist  remaining  jurist;  it 
is  the  bench,  the  magistracy,  the  bar,  —  the  profession  as  a 
profession,  and  in  its  professional  character,  —  a  class,  a  body, 
of  which  I  mean  exclusively  to  speak  ;  and  my  position  is, 
that  as  such  it  holds,  or  may  aspire  to  hold,  a  place,  and  per- 
forms a  function  of  peculiar  and  vast  usefulness  in  the  Amer- 
ican Commonwealth. 

Let  me  premise,  too,  that  instead  of  diffusing  myself  in  a 
display  of  all  the  modes  by  which  the  profession  of  the  law 
may  clai-ii  to  serve  the  State,  I  shall  consider  but  a  single 
one,  and  that  is  its  agency  as  an  element  of  conservation. 
The  position  and  functions  of  the  American  Bar,  then,  as  an 
element  of  conservation  in  the  State,  —  this  precisely  and 
singly  is  the  topic  to  which  I   invite  your  attention. 

And  is  not  the  profession  such  an  element  of  conservation  ? 
Is  not  this  its  characteristical  office  and  its  ap})ropriate  praise  ? 
Is  it  not  so  that  in  its  nature,  in  its  functions,  in  the  intellec- 
tual and  practical  habits  which  it  forms,  in  the  opinions  to 
which  it  conducts,  in  all  its  tendencies  and  influences  of  spec- 
ulation and  action,  it  is  and  ought  to  be  professionally  and 
peculiarly  such  an  element  and  such  an  agent,  —  that  it  con- 
tributes, or  ought  to  be  held  to  contribute,  more  than  all  things 
else,  or  as  much  as  anything  else,  to  preserve  our  organic 
forms,  our  civil  and  social  order,  our  public  and  private  jus- 
tice, our  constitutions  of  government, —  even  the  Union  itself? 
In  these  crises  through  which  our  liberty  is  to  pass,  may  not, 
must  not,  this  function  of  conservatism  become  more  and 
more  developed,  and  more  and  more  operative  ]  May  it  not 
one  day  be  written,  for  the  praise  of  the  American  Bar,  that 
it  helped  to  keep  the  true  idea  of  the  State  alive  and  ger- 
minant  in  the  American  mind  ;  that  it  helped  to  keep  alive 
the  sacred  sentiments  of  obedience  and  reverence  and  jus- 
tice, of  the  supremacy  of  the  calm  and  grand  reason  of  the 
law  over  the  fitful  will  of  the  individual  and  the  crowd ; 
that  it  helped  to  withstand  the  pernicious  sophism  that  the 
successive  generations,  as  they  come  to  life,  are  but  as  so 
many  successive  flights  of  summer  flies,  without  relations  to 
the  past  or  duties  to  the  future,  and  taught  instead  that  all 
—  all  the  dead,  the  living,  the  unborn  —  were  one  moral  per- 
son, —  one  for  action,  one  for  suffering,  one  for  responsibility, 


418  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

—  that  the  engag-ements  of  one  age  may  bind  the  conscience 
of  another ;  tlie  glory  or  the  shame  of  a  day  may  brighten 
or  stain  the  current  of  a  thousand  years  of  continuous  national 
being  ?  Consider  the  profession  of  the  law,  then,  as  an  ele- 
ment of  conservation  in  the  American  State.  I  think  it 
is  naturally  such,  so  to  speak  ;  but  I  am  sure  it  is  our  duty 
to  make  and  to  keep  it  such. 

It  may  be  said,  I  think  with  some  truth,  of  the  profession 
of  the  Bar,  that  in  all  political  systems  and  in  all  times  it  has 
seemed  to  possess  a  twofold  nature  ;  that  it  has  seemed  to  be 
fired  by  the  spirit  of  liberty,  and  yet  to  hold  fast  the  senti- 
ments of  order  and  reverence,  and  the  duty  of  subordination  ; 
that  it  has  resisted  despotism  and  yet  taught  obedience  ;  that 
it  has  recognized  and  vindicated  the  rights  of  man,  and  yet 
has  reckoned  it  always  among  the  most  sacred  and  most 
precious  of  those  rights,  to  be  shielded  and  led  by  the  divine 
nature  and  inunortal  reason  of  law  ;  that  it  appreciates  social 
progression  and  contributes  to  it,  and  ranks  in  the  classes  and 
with  the  agents  of  progression,  yet  evermore  counsels  and 
courts  permanence  and  conservatism  and  rest ;  that  it  loves 
light  better  than  darkness,  and  yet  like  the  eccentric  or  wise 
man  in  the  old  historian,  has  a  habit  of  looking  away  as  the 
night  wanes  to  the  western  sky,  to  detect  there  the  first  streaks 
of  returninof  dawn. 

I  know  that  this  is  high  praise  of  the  professional  charac- 
ter ;  and  it  is  true.  See  if  there  is  not  some  truth  in  it.  See 
at  least  whether  we  may  not  deserve  it,  by  a  careful  culture 
of  the  intrinsical  tendencies  of  our  habitual  studies  and  em- 
ployments, and  all  that  is  peculiar  to  our  professional  life. 

It  is  certain,  on  the  one  hand,  that  the  sympathies  of  the 
lawyer  in  our  system  are  with  the  people  and  with  liberty. 
They  are  with  the  greatest  number  of  the  people;  they  are 
with  what  you  call  the  masses ;  he  springs  from  them  ;  they 
are  his  patrons  ;  their  favor  gives  him  bread  ;  it  gives  him 
consideration  ;  it  raises  him,  as  Curran  so  gracefully  said  of 
himself,  "the  child  of  a  peasant  to  the  table  of  his  prince." 
The  prosperity  of  the  people  employs  and  enriches  him. 

It  does  not  fall  within  my  immediate  object  to  dwell  longer 
on  this  aspect  of  the  twofold  nature  of  the  profession  of  the 
Bar,  —  its  tendencies  and  leanings  to  the  people  and  to  lib- 


CONSERVATIVE   FORCE   OF   THE   AMERICAN  BAR.     419 

erty.  It  might  not  be  uninstructive  to  sustain  and  qualify  the 
vievv^  by  a  glance  at  a  few  remarkable  periods  of  its  history, 
mider  a  few  widely  discriminated  political  systems  of  ancient 
States  and  times,  —  the  Roman  Bar,  for  example,  before  and 
under  the  earliest  times  of  the  Empire  ;  the  French  Bar  at 
the  Revolution  ;  the  American  Bar  from  the  planting  of  the 
colonies.  But  I  must  hasten  to  my  principal  purpose  in  this 
address,  —  an  exhibition  of  the  other  aspect  of  the  profession, 
its  function  of  conservatism. 

In  proceeding  to  this,  I  think  I  may  take  for  granted  that 
conservatism  is,  in  the  actual  circumstances  of  this  country, 
the  one  grand  and  comprehensive  duty  of  a  thoughtful  pa- 
triotism. I  speak  in  the  general,  of  course,  not  pausing  upon 
little  or  inevitable  qualifications  here  and  there,  —  not  meaning 
anything  so  absurd  as  to  say  that  this  law,  or  that  usage,  or  that 
judgment,  or  that  custom  or  condition,  might  not  be  corrected  or 
expunged,  —  not  meaning  still  less  to  invade  the  domains  of 
moral  and  philanthropic  reform,  true  or  false.  I  speak  of  our 
general  political  system  ;  our  organic  forms  ;  our  written  con- 
stitutions ;  the  great  body  and  the  general  administration  of 
our  jurisprudence  ;  the  general  way  in  which  liberty  is  blended 
with  order,  and  the  principle  of  progression  with  the  securi- 
ties of  permanence ;  the  relation  of  the  States  and  the  func- 
tions of  the  Union,  —  and  I  say  of  it  in  a  mass,  that  conser- 
vation is  the  chief  end,  the  largest  duty,  and  the  truest  glory 
of  American  statesmanship. 

There  are  nations,  I  make  no  question,  whose  history,  con- 
dition, and  dangers,  call  them  to  a  different  work.  There  are 
those  whom  everything  in  their  history,  condition,  and  dan- 
gers admonishes  to  reform  fundamentally,  if  they  would  be 
saved.  With  them  the  whole  political  and  social  order  is  to 
be  rearranged.  The  stern  claim  of  labor  is  to  be  provided 
for.  Its  long  antagonism  with  capital  is  to  be  reconciled. 
Property  is  all  to  be  parcelled  out  in  some  nearer  conformity 
to  a  parental  law  of  nature.  Conventional  discriminations  of 
precedence  and  right  are  to  be  swept  away.  Old  forms  from 
which  the  life  is  gone  are  to  drop  as  leaves  in  autunm. 
Frowning  towers  nodding  to  their  fall  are  to  be  taken  down. 
Small  freeholds  must  dot  over  and  cut  up  imperial  parks.  A 
large  infusion  of  liberty  must  be  poured  along  these  emptied 


420  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES. 

veins  and  throb  in  that  great  heart.  With  those,  the  past 
must  be  resigned  ;  the  present  must  be  convulsed,  that  "  an 
immeasurable  future,"  as  Carlyle  has  said,  "  may  be  filled 
with  fruitfulness  and  a  verdant  shade." 

But  with  us  the  age  of  this  mode  and  this  degree  of  re- 
form is  over ;  its  work  is  done.  The  passage  of  the  sea, 
the  occupation  and  culture  of  a  new  world,  the  conquest  of 
independence,  —  these  were  our  eras,  these  our  agency,  of  re- 
form. In  our  jurisprudence  of  liberty,  which  guards  our 
person  from  violence  and  our  goods  from  plunder,  and  which 
forbids  the  whole  power  of  the  State  itself  to  take  the  ewe 
lamb,  or  to  trample  on  a  blade  of  the  grass  of  the  hum- 
blest citizen  without  adequate  remuneration ;  which  makes 
every  dwelling  large  enough  to  shelter  a  human  life  its  own- 
er's castle  which  winds  and  rain  may  enter  but  which  the 
government  cannot,  —  in  our  written  constitutions,  wbereby 
the  peo])le,  exercising  an  act  of  sublime  self-restraint,  have 
intended  to  put  it  out  of  their  own  power  forever,  to  be 
passionate,  tumultuous,  unwise,  unjust ;  whereby  they  have 
intended,  by  means  of  a  system  of  representation  ;  by  means 
of  the  distribution  of  government  into  departments,  inde- 
pendent, coordinate  for  checks  and  balances  ;  by  a  double 
chamber  of  legislation ;  by  the  establishment  of  a  funda- 
mental and  paramount  organic  law  ;  by  the  organization  of 
a  judiciary  whose  function,  whose  loftiest  function  it  is  to 
test  the  legislation  of  the  day  by  this  standard  for  all  time, 
—  constitutions,  whereby  by  all  these  means  they  have  in- 
tended to  secure  a  government  of  laws,  not  of  men  ;  of 
reason,  not  of  will  ;  of  justice,  not  of  fraud,  —  in  that  grand 
dogma  of  equality,  —  equality  of  right,  of  burthens,  of  duty, 
of  privileges,  and  of  chances,  which  is  the  very  mystery  of 
our  social  being  —  to  the  Jews,  a  stumbling  block  ;  to  the 
Greeks,  foolishness  —  our  strength,  our  glory,  —  in  that  lib- 
erty which  we  value  not  solely  because  it  is  a  natural  right 
of  man  ;  not  solely  because  it  is  a  principle  of  individual 
energy  and  a  guaranty  of  national  renown ;  not  at  all  be- 
cause it  attracts  a  procession  and  lights  a  bonfire,  but  because 
when  blended  with  order,  attended  by  law,  tempered  by  vir- 
tue, graced  by  culture,  it  is  a  great  practical  good;  because 
in  her  right  hand  are  riches,  and  honor,  and  peace  ;  because 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF  THE  AMERICAN  BAR.     421 

she  has  come  clown  from  her  golden  and  purple  cloud  to  walk 
m  brightness  by  the  weary  ploughman's  side,  and  whisper  in 
his  ear  as  he  casts  the  seed  with  tears,  that  the  harvest  which 
frost  and  mildew  and  canker-worm  shall  spare,  the  govern- 
ment shall  spare  also  ;  in  our  distribution  into  separate  and 
kindred  States,  not  wholly  independent,  not  quite  identical, 
in  "  the  wide  arch  of  the  ranged  empire  "  above,  —  these  are 
they  in  which  the  fruits  of  our  age  and  our  agency  of  re- 
form are  embodied ;  and  these  are  they  by  which,  if  we  are 
wise,  —  if  we  understand  the  things  that  belong  to  our  peace, 

—  they  may  be  perpetuated.  It  is  for  this  that  I  say  the 
fields  of  reform,  the  aims  of  reform,  the  uses  of  reform  liere, 
therefore,  are  wholly  unlike  the  fields,  uses,  and  aims  of  re- 
form elsewhere.  Foreign  examples,  foreign  counsel,  —  well  or 
ill  meant, —  the  advice  of  the  first  foreign  understandings,  the 
example  of  the  wisest  foreign  nations,  are  worse  than  useless 
for  us.  Even  the  teachings  of  history  are  to  be  cautiously  con- 
sulted, or  the  guide  of  human  life  will  lead  us  astray.  We 
need  reform  enough,  Heaven  knows  ;  but  it  is  the  reforma- 
tion of  our  individual  selves,  the  bettering  of  our  personal 
natures;  it  is  a  more  intellectual  industry;  it  is  a  more  dif- 
fused, profound,  and  graceful,  popular,  and  higher  culture ;  it 
is  a  wider  development  of  the  love  and  discernment  of  the 
beautiful  in  form,  in  color,  in  speech,  and  in  the  soul  of  man, 

—  this  is  what  we  need, —  personal,  moral,  mental  reform  — 
not  civil  —  not  political  !  No,  no  !  Government,  substan- 
tially as  it  is;  jurisprudence,  substantially  as  it  is;  the  gen- 
eral arrangements  of  liberty,  substantially  as  they  are ;  the 
Constitution  and  the  Union,  exactly  as  they  are,  —  this  is  to 
be  wise,  according  to  the  wisdom  of  America. 

To  the  conservation,  then,  of  this  general  order  of  things,  I 
think  the  profession  of  the  Bar  may  be  said  to  be  assigned,  for 
this  reason,  among  others  —  the  only  one  which  I  shall  seek  to 
develop — that  its  studies  and  employments  tend  to  form  in  it 
and  fit  it  to  diffuse  and  impress  on  the  popular  mind  a  class  of 
opinions  —  one  class  of  opinions  —  which  are  indispensable  to 
conservation.  Its  studies  and  offices  train  and  arm  it  to 
counteract  exactly  that  specific  system  of  opinions  by  which  our 
liberty  must  die,  and  to  diffuse  and  impress  those  by  which  it 
may  be  kept  alive. 

VOL.   I.  36 


4,22  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES. 

By  what  means  a  State  with  just  that  quantity  of  liberty  in 
its  constitution  which  belongs  to  the  States  of  America,  with 
just  those  organizations  into  which  our  polity  is  moulded, 
with  just  those  proportions  of  the  elements  of  law  and  order 
and  restraint  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  passionate  love  of  free- 
dom, and  quick  and  high  sense  of  personal  independence  on 
the  other,  —  by  what  means  such  a  State  may  be  preserved 
through  a  full  life-time  of  enjoyment  and  glory,  what  kind  of 
deatb  it  shall  die,  by  what  diagnostics  the  approach  of  that 
death  may  be  known,  by  what  conjuration  it  is  for  a  space  to 
be  charmed  away,  through  what  succession  of  decay  and  deca- 
dence it  shall  at  length  go  down  to  the  tomb  of  the  nations, — 
these  questions  are  the  largest,  pertaining  to  the  things  of  this 
world,  that  can  be  pondered  by  the  mind  of  man.  More  than 
all  others,  too,  they  confound  the  wisdom  of  man.  But  some 
things  we  know.  A  nation,  a  national  existence,  a  national 
history,  is  nothing  but  a  production,  nothing  but  an  expo- 
nent, of  a  national  mind.  At  the  foundation  of  all  splendid 
and  remarkable  national  distinction  there  lie  at  last  a  few  sim- 
ple and  energetic  traits :  a  proud  heart,  a  resolute  will,  saga- 
cious thoughts,  reverence,  veneration,  the  ancient  prudence, 
sound  maxims,  true  wisdom  ;  and  so  the  dying  of  a  nation 
beffins  in  the  heart.  There  are  sentiments  concerning  the 
true  idea  of  the  State,  concerning  law,  concerning  liberty, 
concerning  justice,  so  active,  so  mortal,  that  if  they  per- 
vade and  taint  the  general  mind,  and  transpire  in  practical 
politics,  the  commonwealth  is  lost  already.  It  was  of  these 
that  the  democracies  of  Greece,  one  after  another,  miserably 
died.  It  was  not  so  much  the  spear  of  the  great  Emathian 
conqueror  which  bore  the  beaming  forehead  of  Athens  to  the 
dust,  as  it  was  that  diseased,  universal  opinion,  those  tumult- 
uous and  fraudulent  practical  politics,  which  came  at  last  to 
supersede  the  constitution  of  Solon,  and  the  equivalents  of 
Pericles,  which  dethroned  the  reason  of  the  State,  shattered  and 
dissolv'ed  its  checks,  balances,  and  securities  against  haste  and 
wrong,  annulled  its  laws,  repudiated  its  obligations,  shamed 
away  its  justice,  and  set  up  instead,  for  rule,  the  passion, 
ferocity,  and  caprice,  and  cupidity,  and  fraud  of  a  flushed 
majority,  cheated  and  guided  by  sycophants  and  demagogues, 
—  it  was  this  diseased  public  opinion  and  these  politics,  its 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF  THE  AMERICAN  BAR.      4,^3 

fruits,  more  deadly  than  the  gold  or  the  phalanx  of  Philip, 
that  cast  her  down  untimely  from  her  throne  on  high. 

And  now,  what  are  these  sentiments  and  opinions  from 
which  the  public  mind  of  America  is  in  danger,  and  which 
the  studies  and  offices  of  our  profession  have  fitted  us  and 
impose  on  us  the  duty  to  encounter  and  correct  ? 

In  the  first  place,  it  has  been  supposed  that  there  might  be 
detected,  not  yet  in  the  general  mind,  but  in  what  may  grow 
to  be  the  general  mind,  a  singularly  inadequate  idea  of  the 
State  as  an  unchangeable,  indestructible,  and,  speaking  after 
the  manner  of  men,  an  immortal  thing.  I  do  not  refer  at  this 
moment  exclusively  to  the  temper  in  which  the  Federal  Union 
is  regarded,  though  that  is  a  startling  illustration  of  the  more 
general  and  deeper  sentiment,  but  I  refer  in  a  larger  view  to 
what  some  have  thought  the  popular  or  common  idea  of  the 
civil  State  itself,  its  sacredness,  its  permanence,  its  ends, —  in 
the  lofty  phrase  of  Cicero,  its  eternity.  The  tendency  appears 
to  be,  to  regard  the  whole  concern  as  an  association  altogether 
at  will,  and  at  the  will  of  everybody.  Its  boundary  lines,  its 
constituent  numbers,  its  physical,  social,  and  constitutional 
identity,  its  polity,  its  law,  its  continuance  for  ages,  its  dissolu- 
tion, — all  these  seem  to  be  held  in  the  nature  of  so  many  open 
questions.  Whether  our  countrij  —  words  so  simple,  so  ex- 
pressive, so  sacred  ;  which,  like  father,  child,  wife,  should 
present  an  image  familiar,  endeared,  definite  to  the  heart  — 
whether  our  country  shall,  in  the  course  of  the  next  six 
months  extend  to  the  Pacific  Ocean  and  the  Gulf,  or  be  con- 
fined to  the  parochial  limits  of  the  State  where  we  live,  or 
have  no  existence  at  all  for  us  ;  where  its  centre  of  power 
shall  be ;  whose  statues  shall  be  borne  in  its  processions  ; 
whose  names,  what  days,  what  incidents  of  glory  commemo- 
rated in  its  anniversaries,  and  what  symbols  blaze  on  its  flag, — 
in  all  this  there  is  getting  to  be  a  rather  growing  habit  of 
politic  non-committalism.  Having  learned  from  Rousseau 
and  Locke,  and  our  own  revolutionary  age,  its  theories  and 
its  acts,  that  the  State  is  nothing  but  a  contract,  rests  in 
contract,  springs  from  contract;  that  government  is  a  con- 
trivance of  human  wisdom  for  human  wants ;  that  the  civil 
life,  like  the  Sabbath,  is  made  for  man,  not  man  for  either; 
having    only    about   seventy  years  ago  laid  hold  of  an  arbi- 


424<  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

trary  fragment  of  the  British  empire,  and  appropriated  it 
to  ourselves,  which  is  all  the  country  we  ever  had  ;  having- 
gone  on  enlarging,  doubling,  trebling,  changing  all  this  since, 
as  a  garment  or  a  house ;  accustomed  to  encounter  every  day, 
at  tlie  polls,  in  the  market,  at  the  miscellaneous  banquet  of  our 
Liberty  everywhere,  crowds  of  persons  whom  we  never  saw 
before,  strangers  in  the  country,  yet  just  as  good  citizens  as 
ourselves ;  with  a  whole  continent  before  us,  or  half  a  one,  to 
choose  a  home  in  ;  teased  and  made  peevish  by  all  manner  of 
small,  local  jealousies  ;  tormented  by  the  stimulations  of  a  revo- 
lutionary philanthropy;  enterprising,  speculative,  itinerant,  im- 
proving, "studious  of  change,  and  pleased  with  novelty"  beyond 
the  general  habit  of  desultory  man  ;  — it  might  almost  seem  to 
be  growing  to  be  our  national  humor  to  hold  ourselves  free  at 
every  instant,  to  be  and  do  just  what  we  please,  go  where  we 
please,  stay  as  long  as  we  please  and  no  longer  ;  and  that  the 
State  itself  were  held  to  be  no  more  than  an  encampment  of 
tents  on  the  great  prairie,  pitched  at  sun-down,  and  struck  to 
the  sharp  crack  of  the  rifle  next  morning,  instead  of  a  struc- 
ture, stately  and  eternal,  in  which  the  generations  may  come, 
one  after  another,  to  the  great  gift  of  this  social  life. 

On  such  sentiments  as  these,  how  can  a  towering  and  dura- 
ble fabric  be  set  up  '?  To  use  the  metaphor  of  Bacon,  on  such 
soil  how  can  "  greatness  be  sown  "1  How  unlike  the  lessons 
of  the  masters,  at  whose  feet  you  are  bred  !  The  studies  of 
our  profession  have  taught  us  that  the  State  is  framed  for  a 
duration  without  end,  —  without  end  —  tdl  the  earth  and  the 
heavens  be  no  more.  Sic  constituta  civitas  ut  eterna  !  In 
the  eye  and  contemplation  of  law,  its  masses  may  die;  its  own 
corporate  being  can  never  die.  If  we  inspect  the  language 
of  its  fundamental  ordinance,  every  word  expects,  assumes, 
foretells  a  perpetuity,  lasting  as  "  the  great  globe  itself,  and  all 
which  it  inherit."  If  we  go  out  of  that  record  and  inquire  for 
the  designs  and  the  hopes  of  its  founders  ab  extra,  we  know 
that  they  constructed  it,  and  bequeathed  it,  for  the  latest  poster- 
ity. If  we  reverently  rise  to  a  conjecture  of  the  purposes  for 
which  the  Ruler  of  the  world  permitted  and  decreed  it  to  be  in- 
stituted, in  order  to  discern  how  soon  it  will  have  performed  its 
office  and  may  be  laid  aside,  we  see  that  they  reach  down  to  the 
last  hour  of  the  life  of  the  last  man  that  shall  live  upon  the 


CONSERVATIVE   FORCE  OF  THE  AMERICAN   BAR.     4.0^ 

earth  ;  that  it  was  designed  hy  the  Infinite  Wisdom,  to  enable 
the  generation  who  framed  it,  and  all  the  generations,  to  per- 
fect their  social,  moral,  and  religious  nature  ;  to  do  and  to  be 
good  ;  to  pursue  happiness  ;  to  be  fitted,  by  the  various  discipline 
of  the  social  life,  by  obedience,  by  worship,  for  the  life  to 
come.  When  these  ends  are  all  answered,  the  State  shall  die  ! 
When  these  are  answered,  intereat  et  concidat  omnis  Jiie 
mundiis  !      Until  they  are  answered,  esto^  erUque  loerpetua  I 

In  the  next  place,  it  has  been  thought  that  tliere  was  devel- 
oping itself  in  the  general  sentiment,  and  in  the  practical  poli- 
tics of  the  time,  a  tendency  towards  one  of  those  great  chan- 
ges by  which  free  States  have  oftenest  perished,  —  a  tendency 
to  push  to  excess  the  distinctive  and  characteristic  principles  of 
our  system,  whereby,  as  Aristotle  has  said,  governments  usu- 
ally perish,  —  a  tendency  towards  transition  from  the  republican 
to  the  democratical  era,  of  the  history  and  epochs  of  liberty. 

Essentially  and  generally,  it  would  be  pronounced  by  those 
who  discern  it,  a  tendency  to  erect  the  actual  majority  of  the 
day  into  the  de  jure  and  actual  government  of  the  day.  It 
is  a  tendency  to  regard  the  actual  will  of  that  majority  as  the 
law  of  the  State.  It  is  a  tendency  to  regard  the  shortest  and 
simplest  way  of  collecting  that  will,  and  the  promptest  and  most 
irresistible  execution  of  it,  as  the  true  polity  of  liberty.  It  is  a 
tendency  which,  pressed  to  its  last  development,  would,  if  consid- 
erations of  mere  convenience  or  inconvenience  did  not  hinder,  do 
exactly  this  :  it  would  assemble  the  whole  people  in  a  vast  mass, 
as  once  they  used  to  assemble  beneath  the  sun  of  Athens  ;  and 
there,  when  the  eloquent  had  spoken,  and  the  wise  and  the  fool- 
ish had  counselled,  would  commit  the  transcendent  questions  of 
war,  peace,  taxation,  and  treaties  ;  the  disposition  of  the  for- 
tunes and  honor  of  the  citizen  and  statesman  ;  death,  banish- 
ment, or  the  crown  of  gold  ;  the  making,  interpreting,  and 
administration  of  the  law  ;  and  all  the  warm,  precious,  and 
multifarious  interests  of  the  social  life,  to  the  madness  or  the 
jest  of  the  hour. 

I  have  not  time  to  present  what  have  been  thought  to  be  the 
proofs  of  the  existence  of  this  tendency  ;  and  it  is  needless  to 
do  so.  It  would  be  presumptuous,  too,  to  speculate,  if  it  has 
existence,  on  its  causes  and  its  issues.  I  desire  to  advert  to 
certain  particulars  in  which  it  may  be  analyzed,  and  through 

36* 


4^6  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

which  it  displays  itself,  for  the  jDurpose  of  showing  that  the 
studies,  employments,  and,  so  to  say,  professional  politics,  of 
the  bar  are  essentially,  perhaps  availably,  antagonistical  to  it, 
or  moderative  of  it. 

It  is  said,  then,  that  you  may  remark  this  tendency,  first,  in 
an  inclination  to  depreciate  the  uses  and  usurp  the  functions  of 
those  organic  forms  in  which  the  regular,  definite,  and  legally 
recognized  powers  of  the  State  are  embodied,  —  to  depreciate 
the  uses  and  usurp  the  function  of  written  constitutions,  limi- 
tations on  the  legislature,  the  distribution  of  government  into 
departments,  the  independence  of  the  judiciary,  the  forms  of 
orderly  proceeding,  and  all  the  elaborate  and  costly  ap])aratus 
of  checks  and  balances,  by  which,  as  I  have  said,  we  seek  to 
secure  a  government  of  laws  and  not  of  men. 

"  The  first  condition  "  —  it  is  the  remark  of  a  man  of  great 
genius,  who  saw  very  far  by  glances  into  the  social  system, 
Coleridge,  —  "  the  first  condition  in  order  to  a  sound  constitu- 
tion of  the  body  politic,  is  a  due  proportion  between  the  free 
and  permeative  life  and  energy  of  the  State  and  its  organized 
powers."  For  w\int  of  that  proportion  the  government  of  Ath- 
ens was  shattered  and  dissolved.  For  want  of  that  proportion 
the  old  constitutions  of  Solon,  the  reforms  of  Clisthenes,  the 
sanctity  of  the  Areopagus,  the  temperaments  of  Pericles,  were 
burnt  up  in  the  torrent  blaze  of  an  unmitigated  democracy. 
Every  power  of  the  State — executive,  legal,  judicial  —  was 
grasped  by  the  hundred-handed  assembly  of  the  people.  The 
result  is  in  her  history.  She  became  a  byword  of  dissension 
and  injustice ;  and  that  w^as  her  ruin. 

I  wonder  how  long  that  incomprehensible  democracy  would 
have  hesitated,  after  the  spirit  of  permeative  liberty  had  got  the 
better  of  the  organized  forms,  upon  our  Spot  Pond,  and  Long 
Pond,  and  Charles  River  water-questions.  This  intolerable 
hardship  and  circumlocution  of  applying  to  a  legislature  of 
three  independent  and  coordinate  departments,  sitting  under  a 
written  constitution,  with  an  independent  judiciary  to  hold  it 
up  to  the  fundamental  law,  —  the  hardship  of  applying  to  such 
a  legislature  for  power  to  bring  water  into  the  city ;  this 
operose  machinery  of  orders  of  notice,  hearings  before  com- 
mittees, adverse  reports,  favorable  reports  rejected,  disagree- 
ments of  the  two  Houses,  veto  of  Governor,  a  charter  saving 


CONSERVATIVE   FORCE  OF   THE  AMERICAN  BAR.     4.0J 

vested  rights  of  other  people,  meetings  of  citizens  in  wards  to 
vote  unawed,  imwatched,  every  man  according"  to  his  sober  sec- 
ond thought,  —  how  long  do  you  think  such  conventionalities  as 
these  would  have  kept  that  beautiful,  passionate,  and  self-willed 
Athens,  standing,  like  the  Tantalus  of  her  own  poetry,  plunged 
in  crystal  lakes  and  gentle  historical  rivers  up  to  the  chin,  per- 
ishing with  thirst '?  Why,  some  fine,  sunshiny  forenoon,  you 
would  have  heard  the  crier  calHng  the  people,  one  and  all,  to 
an  extraordinary  assembly,  perhaps  in  the  Pirteus,  as  a  pretty 
full  expression  of  public  opinion  was  desirable  and  no  other 
place  would  hold  everybody ;  you  would  have  seen  a  stupendous 
mass-meeting  roll  itself  together  as  clouds  before  all  the  winds ; 
standing  on  the  outer  edges  of  which  you  could  just  discern  a 
speaker  or  two  gesticulating,  catch  a  murmur  as  of  waves  on 
the  pebbly  beach,  applause,  a  loud  laugh  at  a  happy  hit,  observe 
some  six  thousand  hands  lifted  to  vote  or  swear,  and  then  the 
vast  congregation  would  separate  and  subside,  to  be  seen  no 
more.  And  the  whole  record  of  the  transaction  would  be 
made  up  in  some  half-dozen  lines  to  this  efiect,  —  it  might  be 

in  ^schines,  —  that  in  the  month  of  ,   under  the  ar- 

chonate  of  ,  the  tribe  of  ,  exercising  the  office  of 

prytanes ,  an  extraordinary  assembly  was  called  to  consult 

on  the  supply  of  water ;  and  it  appearing  that  some  six  persons 
of  great  wealth  and  consideration  had  opposed  its  introduction 
for  some  time  past,  and  were  moreover  vehemently  suspected 
of  being  no  better  than  they  should  be,  it  was  ordained  that 
they  should  be  fined  in  round  sums,  computed  to  be  enough  to 
bring  in  such  a  supply  as  would  give  every  man  equal  to 
twenty-eight  gallons  a  day ;  and  a  certain  obnoxious  orator 
having  inquired  what  possible  need  there  was  for  so  much 
a  head,  Demades,  the  son  of  the  Mariner,  replied,  that  that  per- 
son was  the  very  last  man  in  all  Athens  who  should  ])ut  that 
question,  since  the  assembly  must  see  that  he  at  least  could  use 
it  to  great  advantage  by  washing  his  face,  hands,  and  robes ; 
and  thereupon  the  people  laughed  and  separated. 

And  now  am  I  misled  by  the  influence  of  vocation,  when  I 
venture  to  suppose  that  the  profession  of  the  Bar  may  do 
somewhat  —  should  be  required  to  do  somewhat  —  to  preserve 
the  true  proportion  of  liberty  to  organization,  —  to  moderate 
and  to  disarm  that  eternal  antagonism  ] 


4£8  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

These  "  organic  forms  "  of  our  system  —  are  they  not  in 
some  just  sense  committed  to  your  professional  charge  and  care'? 
In  this  sense,  and  to  this  extent,  does  not  your  profession 
approach  to,  and  blend  itself  with,  one,  and  that  not  the  least 
in  dignity  and  usefulness,  of  the  departments  of  statesmanship '? 
Are  you  not  thus  statesmen  while  you  are  lawyers,  and  because 
you  are  lawyers  ^  These  constitutions  of  government  by  which 
a  free  people  have  had  the  virtue  and  the  sense  to  restrain 
themselves, — these  devices  of  profound  wisdom  and  a  deep 
study  of  man,  and  of  the  past,  by  which  they  have  meant  to 
secure  the  ascendency  of  the  just,  lofty,  and  wise,  over  the 
fraudulent,  low,  and  insane,  in  the  long  run  of  our  practical  poli- 
tics,—  these  temperaments  by  which  justice  is  promoted,  and 
by  which  liberty  is  made  possible  and  may  be  made  immortal, 

—  and  this  jus  publicum^  this  great  written  code  of  public  law, 

—  are  they  not  a  part,  in  the  strictest  and  narrowest  sense,  of 
the  appropriate  science  of  your  profession  ]  More  than  for 
any  other  class  or  calling  in  the  community,  is  it  not  for  you 
to  study  their  sense,  comprehend  their  great  uses,  and  explore 
their  historical  origin  and  illustrations,  —  to  so  hold  them  up 
as  shields,  that  no  act  of  legislature,  no  judgment  of  court,  no 
executive  proclamation,  no  order  of  any  functionary  of  any 
description,  shall  transcend  or  misconceive  them  —  to  so  hold 
them  up  before  your  clients  and  the  public,  as  to  keep  them 
at  all  times  living,  intelhgible,  and  appreciated  in  the  universal 
mind  \ 

Something  such  has,  in  all  the  past  periods  of  our  history, 
been  one  of  the  functions  of  the  American  Bar.  To  vindicate 
the  true  interpretation  of  the  charters  of  the  colonies,  to  advise 
what  forms  of  polity,  what  systems  of  jurisprudence,  what 
degree  and  what  mode  of  liberty  these  charters  permitted,  —  to 
detect  and  expose  that  long  succession  of  infringement  which 
grew  at  last  to  the  Stamp  Act  and  Tea  Tax,  and  compelled 
us  to  turn  from  broken  charters  to  national  independence,  —  to 
conduct  the  transcendent  controversy  which  preceded  the  Rev- 
olution, that  grand  appeal  to  the  reason  of  civilization,  —  this 
was  the  work  of  our  first  generation  of  lawyers.  To  con- 
struct the  American  constitutions,  —  the  higher  praise  of 
the  second  generation.  I  claim  it  in  part  for  the  sobriety  and 
learning  of  the  American  Bar ;  for  the  professional  instinct 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF  THE  AMERICAN  BAR.  4^9 

towards  the  past ;  for  the  professional  appreciation  of  order, 
forms,  ohedience,  restraints  ;  for  the  more  than  professional, 
the  profound  and  wide  intimacy  with  the  history  of  all  liberty, 
classical,  mediaeval,  and  above  all,  of  English  liberty,  —  I 
claim  it  in  part  for  the  American  Bar  that,  sprinoing  into 
existence  by  revolution,  —  revolution,  which  more  than  any- 
thing- and  all  things  lacerates  and  discomposes  the  popular 
mind, — justifying  that  revolution  only  on  a  strong  principle  of 
natural  right,  with  not  one  single  element  or  agent  of  mon- 
archy  or  aristocracy  on  our  soil  or  in  our  blood,  —  I  claim  it 
for  the  Bar  that  the  constitutions  of  America  so  nobly  closed 
the  series  of  our  victories  !  These  constitutions  owe  to  the 
Bar  more  than  their  terse  and  exact  expression  and  systematic 
arrangements  ;  they  owe  to  it,  in  part,  too,  their  elements  of 
permanence ;  their  felicitous  reconciliation  of  universal  and  in- 
tense liberty  with  forms  to  enshrine  and  regulations  to  restrain 
it ;  their  x\nglo-Saxon  sobriety  and  gravity  conveyed  in  the  gen- 
uine idiom,  suggestive  of  the  grandest  civil  achievements  of 
that  unequalled  race.  To  interpret  these  constitutions,  to  ad- 
minister and  maintain  them,  this  is  the  office  of  our  age  of 
the  profession.  Herein  have  we  somewhat  wherein  to  glory ; 
hereby  we  come  into  the  class  and  share  in  the  dignity  of  found- 
ers of  States,  of  restorers  of  States,  of  preservers  of  States. 

I  said  and  I  repeat  that,  while  lawyers,  and  because  we  are 
lawyers,  we  are  statesmen.  We  are  by  profession  statesmen. 
And  who  may  measure  the  value  of  this  department  of  public 
duty  ]  Doubtless  in  statesmanship  there  are  many  mansions, 
and  large  variety  of  conspicuous  service.  Doubtless  to  have 
wisely  decided  the  question  of  war  or  peace,  —  to  have  adjusted 
by  a  skilful  negotiation  a  thousand  miles  of  unsettled  boundary- 
line,  —  to  have  laid  the  corner-stone  of  some  vast  policy  where- 
by the  currency  is  corrected,  the  finances  enriched,  the  measure 
of  industrial  fame  filled, — are  large  achievements.  iVnd  yet 
I  do  not  know  that  I  can  point  to  one  achievement  of  this  depart- 
ment of  American  statesmanship,  which  can  take  rank  for  its 
consequences  of  good  above  that  single  decision  of  the  Supreme 
Court,  which  adjudged  that  an  act  of  legislature  contrary  to 
the  Constitution  is  void,  and  that  the  judicial  department  is 
clothed  with  the  power  to  ascertain  the  repugnancy  and  to 
pronounce    the    legal   conclusion.     That   the    framers   of   the 


4,30  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

Constitution  intended  this  should  be  so,  is  certain ;  but  to  have 
asserted  it  against  the  Congress  and  the  Executive,  —  to  have 
vindicated  it  by  tliat  easy  yet  adamantine  demonstration  than 
which  the  reasoning-s  of  the  mathematics  show  nothino-  surer,  — 
to  have  inscribed  this  vast  truth  of  conservatism  on  the  public 
mind,  so  that  no  demagogue,  not  in  the  last  stage  of  intoxi- 
cation, denies  it,  — •  this  is  an  achievement  of  statesmanship  of 
which  a  thousand  years  may  not  exhaust  or  reveal  all  the 
good. 

It  has  been  thought,  in  the  next  place,  that  you  may  remark 
this  unfavorable  tendency  in  a  certain  false  and  pernicious  idea 
of  lauj,  which  to  some  extent  possesses  the  popular  mind,  — 
law,  its  source,  its  nature,  its  titles  to  reverence.  Consider 
it  a  moment,  and  contrast  it  with  our  idea  of  law. 

It  is  one  of  the  distemperatures  to  which  an  unreasoning 
liberty  may  grow,  no  doubt,  to  regard  laiv  as  no  more  nor  less 
than  just  the  will — the  actual  and  present  will — of  the  actual 
majority  of  the  nation.  The  majority  govern.  What  the  major- 
ity pleases,  it  may  ordain.  What  it  ordains  is  law.  So  much 
for  the  source  of  law,  and  so  much  for  the  nature  of  law. 
But,  then,  as  law  is  nothing  but  the  will  of  a  major  num- 
ber, as  that  will  differs  from  the  will  of  yesterday,  and  will 
differ  from  that  of  to-morrow,  and  as  all  law  is  a  restraint  on 
natural  right  and  personal  independence,  how  can  it  gain  a 
moment's  hold  on  the  reverential  sentiments  of  the  heart,  and 
the  profounder  convictions  of  the  judgment  T  How  can  it  im- 
press a  filial  awe  ;  how  can  it  conciliate  a  filial  love ;  how  can 
it  sustain  a  sentiment  of  veneration  ;  how  can  it  command  a 
rational  and  animated  defence]  Such  sentiments  are  not  the 
stuff  from  which  the  immortality  of  a  nation  is  to  be  woven  ! 
Oppose  now  to  this,  the  loftier  philosophy  which  we  have 
learned.  In  the  language  of  our  system,  the  law  is  not  the 
transient  and  arbitrary  creation  of  the  major  will,  nor  of  any 
will.  It  is  not  the  offspring  of  will  at  all.  It  is  the  absolute 
justice  of  the  State,  enlightened  by  the  perfect  reason  of  the 
State.  That  is  law.  Enlightened  justice  assisting  the  social 
nature  to  ])erfect  itself  by  the  social  life.  It  is  ordained,  doubt- 
less, that  is,  it  is  chosen,  and  is  ascertained  by  the  wisdom  of 
man.     But,  tlien,  it  is  the  master-work  of   man.      Quce  est 


CONSERVATIVE   FORCE   OF  THE  AMERICAN  BAR.     431 

^mm  istorum  oratio  tarn  exqidsUa^  qiice  sit  anteponenda  hene 
constitutce  civitati 2'>uhlico  jure,  et  moribiis  ?^ 

By  the  costly  and  elaborate  contrivances  of  our  constitutions 
we  have  sought  to  attain  the  transcendent  result  of  extracting 
and  excluding  haste,  injustice,  revenge,  and  folly  from  the 
place  and  function  of  giving  the  law,  and  of  introducing  alone 
the  reason' and  justice  of  the  wisest  and  the  best.  By  the  aid 
of  time,  —  time  which  changes  and  tries  all  things  ;  tries  them, 
and  works  them  pure,  —  we  subject  the  law,  after  it  is  given, 
to  the  tests  of  old  experience,  to  the  reason  and  justice  of  suc- 
cessive ages  and  generations,  to  the  best  thoughts  of  the 
wisest  and  safest  of  reformers.  And  then  and  thus  we  pro- 
nounce it  good.  Then  and  thus  we  cannot  choose  but  rever- 
ence, obey,  and  enforce  it.  We  would  grave  it  deep  into  the 
heart  of  the  undying  State.  We  would  strengthen  it  by  opin- 
ion, by  manners,  by  private  virtue,  by  habit,  by  the  awful  hoar 
of  innumerable  ages.  All  that  attracts  us  to  life,  all  that  is 
charming  in  the  perfected  and  adorned  social  nature,  we  wise- 
ly think  or  we  wisely  dream,  we  owe  to  the  all-encircling  pres- 
ence of  the  law.  Not  even  extravagant  do  we  think  it  to  hold, 
that  the  Divine  approval  may  sanction  it  as  not  unworthy  of 
the  reason  which  we  derive  from  His  own  nature.  Not  ex- 
travagant do  we  hold  it  to  say,  that  there  is  thus  a  voice  of 
the  people  which  is  the  voice  of  God. 

Doubtless  the  known  historical  origin  of  the  law  contributes 
to  this  opinion  of  it.  Consider  for  a  moment  —  what  that  law 
really  is,  what  the  vast  body  of  that  law  is,  to  the  study  and 
administration  of  which  the  lawyer  gives  his  whole  life,  by 
which  he  has  trained  his  mind,  established  his  fortune,  won  his 
fame,  the  theatre  of  all  his  triumphs,  the  means  of  all  his  use- 
fulness, the  theme  of  a  thousand  earnest  panegyrics,  —  what  is 
that  law  ]  Mainly,  a  body  of  digested  rules  and  processes  and 
forms,  bequeathed  by  what  is  for  us  the  old  and  past  time,  not 
of  one  age,  but  all  the  ages  of  the  past,  —  a  vast  and  multifa- 
rious aggregate,  some  of  which  you  trace  above  the  pyramids, 
above  the  flood,  the  inspired  wisdom  of  the  primeval  East; 
some  to  the  scarcely  yet  historical  era  of  Pythagoras,  and  to 
Solon  and  Socrates ;  more  of  it  to  the  robust,  practical  sense 
and  justice  of  Rome,  the  lawgiver  of  the  nations ;  more  still 
1  Cicero  de  Republica,  I.,  2. 


432  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

to  the  teeming  birtlitime  of  the  modern  mind  and  hfe  ;  all  of 
it  to  some  epoch ;  some  of  it  to  every  epoch  of  the  past  of 
which  liistory  keeps  the  date.  In  the  way  in  which  it  comes 
down  to  us,  it  seems  one  mighty  and  continuous  stream  of 
experience  and  reason,  accumulated,  ancestral,  widening  and 
deepening-  and  washing  itself  clearer  as  it  runs  on,  the  grand 
agent  of  civilization,  the  builder  of  a  thousand  cities,  the 
guardian  angel  of  a  hundred  generations,  our  own  heredi- 
tary laws.  To  revere  such  a  system,  would  be  natural  and 
professional,  if  it  were  no  more.  But  it  is  reasonable,  too. 
There  is  a  deep  presumption  in  favor  of  that  which  has 
endured  so  long.  To  say  of  anything,  that  it  is  old,  and  to 
leave  the  matter  there, —  an  opinion,  a  polity,  a  code,  a  posses- 
sion, a  book, —  is  to  say  nothing  of  praise  or  blame.  But  to 
have  lived  for  ages  ;  to  be  alive  to-day,  —  in  a  real  sense  alive, 

—  alive  in  the  hearts,  in  the  reason  of  to-day ;  to  have  lived 
through  ages,  not  swathed  in  gums  and  spices  and  enshrined 
in  chambers  of  pyramids,  but  through  ages  of  unceasing  con- 
tact and  sharp  trial  with  the  passions,  interests,  and  affairs  of 
the  great  world ;  to  have  lived  through  the  drums  and  trani- 
plings  of  conquests,  through  revolution,  reform,  through  cycles 
of  opinion  running-  their  round  ;  to  have  lived  under  many 
diverse  systems  of  policy,  and  have  survived  the  many  trans- 
migrations from  one  to  another  ;  to  have  attended  the  general 
progress  of  the  race,  and  shared  in  its  successive  ameliorations, 

—  thus  to  have  gathered  upon  itself  the  aj)probation  or  the  sen- 
timents and  reason  of  all  civilization  and  all  humanity,  —  that 
is,  per  sc\  a  jyrimci-facie  title  to  intelligent  regard.  There  is  a 
virtue,  there  is  truth,  in  that  effacing  touch  of  time.  It  be- 
reaves us  of  our  beauty  ;  it  calls  our  friends  from  our  side, 
and  we  are  alone ;  it  changes  us,  and  sends  us  away.  But 
spare  what  it  spares.  Spare  till  you  have  proved  it.  Where 
that  touch  has  passed  and  left  no  wrinkle  nor  spot  of  decay, 
what  it  has  passed  and  left  ameliorated  and  beautified,  what- 
ever it  be,  stars,  sea,  the  fame  of  the  great  dead,  the  State, 
the  law,  which  is  the  soul  of  the  State,  be  sure  that  therein  is 
some  spark  of  an  immortal  life. 

It  is  certain  that  in  the  American  theory,  the  free  theory  of 
government,  it  is  the  right  of  the  people,  at  any  moment  of 
its  representation  in  the  legislature,  to  make  all  the  law,  and 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF  THE  AMERICAN  BAR.  433 

by  its  representatives  in  conventions,  to  make  the  Constitution 
anew.  It  is  their  right  to  do  so  peaceably  and  according  to 
existing  forms,  and  to  do  it  by  revolution  against  all  forms. 
This  is  the  theory.  But  I  do  not  know  that  any  wise  man 
would  desire  to  have  this  theory  every  day,  or  ever,  acted  upon 
up  to  its  whole  extent,  or  to  have  it  eternally  pressed,  promul- 
gated, panegyrized  as  the  grand  peculiarity  and  chief  privilege 
of  our  condition.  Acting  upon  this  theory,  we  have  made  our 
constitutions,  founded  our  policy,  written  the  great  body  of  our 
law,  set  our  whole  government  going.  It  worked  well.  It 
works  to  a  charm.  I  do  not  know  that  any  man  displays 
wisdom  or  common  sense,  by  all  the  while  haranguing  and 
stimulating  the  people  to  change  it.  I  do  not  appreciate  the 
sense  or  humanity  of  all  the  while  bawling :  true,  your  systems 
are  all  good ;  life,  character,  property,  all  safe,  —  but  you  have 
the  undoubted  right  to  rub  all  out  and  begin  again.  If  I  see 
a  man  quietly  eating  his  dinner,  I  do  not  know  why  I  should 
tell  him  that  there  is  a  first-rate,  extreme  medicine,  prussic 
acid,  aquafortis,  or  what  not,  which  he  has  a  perfectly  good 
right  to  use  in  any  quantity  he  pleases !  If  a  man  is  living 
happily  with  his  wife,  I  don't  know  why  I  should  go  and  say: 
yes,  1  see;  beautiful  and  virtuous;  I  congratulate  you,  —  but 
let  me  say,  you  can  get  a  perfectly  legal  divorce  by  going  to 
Vermont,  New  Jersey,  or  Pennsylvania.  True  wisdom  would 
seem  to  advise  the  culture  of  disj)ositions  of  rest,  contentment, 
conservation.  True  wisdom  would  advise  to  lock  up  the  ex- 
treme medicine  till  the  attack  of  the  alarming  malady.  True 
wisdom  would  advise  to  place  the  power  of  revolution,  over- 
turning all  to  begin  anew,  rather  in  the  background,  to  throw 
over  it  a  politic,  well-wrought  veil,  to  reserve  it  for  crises, 
exigencies,  the  rare  and  distant  days  of  great  historical  epochs. 
These  great,  transcendental  rights  should  be  preserved,  must 
be,  will  be.  But  perhaps  you  would  place  them  away,  rev- 
erentially, in  the  profoundest  recesses  of  the  chambers  of  the 
dead,  down  in  deep  vaults  of  black  marble,  lighted  by  a  single 
silver  lamp, — as  in  that  vision  of  the  Gothic  king, — to  which 
wise  and  brave  men  may  go  down,  in  the  hour  of  extremity, 
to  evoke  the  tremendous  divinities  of  change  from  their  sleep 
of  ages. 

VOL.  I.  37 


4S4<  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

"  NI  faeiat,  maria,  ac  terras,  ccelumque  profnndum, 
Quippe  ferant  rapid!  secum,  verrautque  per  auras."! 

To  appreciate  the  conservative  agency  and  functions  of  the 
legal  profession,  however,  it  is  time  to  pass  from  an  analysis 
of  tlie  sentiments  and  opinions  which  distinguish  it,  to  the 
occupation  by  which  it  is  employed.  The  single  labor  of  our 
lives  is  the  administration  of  the  law ;  and  the  topic  on  which 
I  wish  to  say  a  word  in  conclusion  is,  the  influence  of  the 
actual  administration  of  law  in  this  country  on  the  duration 
of  our  free  systems  themselves.  The  topic  is  large  and  high, 
and  well  deserves  what  I  may  not  now  attempt,  a  profound 
and  exact  discussion. 

I  do  not  know  that  in  all  the  elaborate  policy  by  which  free 
States  have  sought  to  preserve  themselves,  there  is  one  de- 
vice so  sure,  so  simple,  so  indispensable,  as  justice,  — justice 
to  all ;  justice  to  foreign  nations  of  whatever  class  of  great- 
ness or  weakness;  justice  to  public  creditors,  alien  or  native; 
justice  to  every  individual  citizen,  down  to  the  feeblest  and 
the  least  beloved  ;  justice  in  the  assignment  of  political  and 
civil  right,  and  place,  and  opportunity;  justice  between  man 
and  man,  every  man  and  every  other, — to  observe  and  to  admin- 
ister this  virtue  steadily,  uniformly,  and  at  whatever  cost, — this, 
the  best  policy  and  the  final  course  of  all  governments,  is  pre- 
eminently the  policy  of  free  governments.  Much  the  most  spe- 
cious objection  to  free  systems  is,  that  they  have  been  observed 
in  the  long  run  to  develop  a  tendency  to  some  mode  of  injustice. 
Resting  on  a  truer  theory  of  natural  right  in  their  constitu- 
tional construction  than  any  other  polity,  founded  in  the  abso- 
lute and  universal  equality  of  man,  and  permeated  and  tinged 
and  all  astir  with  this  principle  through  all  their  frame,  and,  so 
far,  more  nobly  just  than  any  other,  the  doubt  which  history  is 
supposed  to  suggest  is,  whether  they  do  not  reveal  a  tendency 
towards  injustice  in  other  ways.  Whether  they  have  been  as 
uniformly  true  to  their  engagements.  Whether  property  and 
good  name  and  life  have  been  quite  as  safe.  Whether  the 
great  body  of  the  jus  privatum  has  been  as  skilfully  com- 
posed and  rigorously  administered  as  under  the  less  reasonable 
and  attractive  systems  of  absolute  rule.     You  remember  that 

1  ^a.  I.,  58,  59. 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF  THE  AMERICAN  BAR.      435 

Aristotle,  looking  back  on  a  historical  experience  of  all  sorts 
of  governments  extending  over  many  years  —  Aristotle  who 
went  to  the  court  of  Philip  a  republican,  and  came  back  a 
republican  —  records,  in  his  Politics,  wjustice  as  the  grand, 
and  comprehensive  cause  of  the  downfall  of  democracies.  The 
historian  of  the  Italian  democracies  extends  the  remark  to 
them.  That  all  States  should  be  stable  in  proportion  as  they 
are  just,  and  in  proportion  as  they  administer  justly,  is  what 
might  be  asserted. 

If  this  end  is  answered ;  if  every  man  has  his  own  exactly 
and  uniformly,  absolutism  itself  is  found  tolerable.  If  it  is 
not,  liberty — slavery,  are  but  dreary  and  transient  things. 
Plackla  qiiies  sub  liheriate^  in  the  words  of  Algernon  Svdney 
and  of  the  seal  of  Massachusetts,  —  that  is  the  union  of  felici- 
ties which  should  make  the  State  immortal.  Whether  Repub- 
lics have  usually  perished  from  injustice,  need  not  be  debated. 
One  there  was,  the  most  renowned  of  all,  that  certainly  did  so. 
The  injustice  practised  by  the  Athens  of  the  age  of  Demos- 
thenes upon  its  citizens,  and  suffered  to  be  practised  by  one 
another,  was  as  marvellous  as  the  capacities  of  its  dialect,  as 
the  eloquence  by  which  its  masses  were  regaled,  and  swayed 
this  way  and  that  as  clouds,  as  waves,  —  marvellous  as  the 
long  banquet  of  beauty  in  which  they  revelled,  —  as  their 
love  of  Athens,  and  their  passion  of  glory.  There  was  not 
one  day  in  the  whole  public  life  of  Demosthenes  when  the 
fortune,  the  good  name,  the  civil  existence  of  any  considerable 
man  was  safer  there  than  it  would  have  been  at  Constantinople 
or  Cairo  under  the  very  worst  forms  of  Turkish  rule.  There 
was  a  sycophant  to  accuse,  a  demagogue  to  prosecute,  a  tickle, 
selfish,  necessitous  court — no  court  at  all,  only  a  commission 
of  some  hundreds  or  thousands  from  the  public  assendjly  sit- 
ting in  the  sunshine,  directly  interested  in  the  cause  —  to  pro- 
nounce judgment.  And  he  who  rose  rich  and  honored,  might 
be  flying  at  night  for  his  life  to  some  Persian  or  Macedonian 
outpost,  to  die  by  poison  on  his  way  in  the  temple  of  Neptune. 

Is  there  not  somewhat  in  sharing  in  that  administration, 
observing  and  enjoying  it,  which  tends  to  substitute  in  the 
professional  and  in  the  popular  miud,  in  place  of  the  wild 
consciousness  of  possessing  summary  power,  ultimate  pow- 
er, the  wild  desire  to  exert  it,  and  to  grasp  and  subject  all 


436  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

things  to  its  rule, — to  substitute  for  this  the  more  conservative 
sentiments  of  reverence  for  a  law  independent  of,  and  distinct 
from,  and  antagonistical  to,  the  humor  of  the  hour  ?  Is  there 
not  something'  in  the  study  and  administrative  enjoyment  of 
an  elaborate,  rational,  and  ancient  jurisprudence,  which  tends 
to  raise  the  law  itself,  in  the  professional  and  in  the  general 
idea,  almost  up  to  the  nature  of  an  independent,  superior 
reason,  in  one  sense  out  of  the  people,  in  one  sense  above 
them,  —  out  of  and  above,  and  independent  of,  and  collateral 
to,  the  people  of  any  given  day  ^  In  all  its  vast  volumes  of 
provisions,  very  little  of  it  is  seen  to  be  produced  by  the  actual 
will  of  tlie  existing  generation.  The  first  thing  we  know  about 
it  is,  that  we  are  actually  being  governed  by  it.  The  next 
thing  we  know  is,  we  are  rightfully  and  beneficially  governed 
by  it.  We  did  not  help  to  make  it.  No  man  now  living 
helped  to  make  much  of  it.  The  judge  does  not  make  it. 
Like  the  structure  of  the  State  itself,  we  found  it  around  us  at 
the  earliest  dawn  of  reason,  it  guarded  the  helplessness  of  our 
infancy,  it  restrained  the  passions  of  our  youth,  it  protects  the 
acquisitions  of  our  manhood,  it  shields  the  sanctity  of  the 
grave,  it  executes  the  will  of  the  departed.  Invisible,  omnipres- 
ent, a  real  yet  impalpable  existence,  it  seems  more  a  spirit,  an 
abstraction,  —  the  whispered  yet  authoritative  voice  of  all  the 
past  and  all  the  good,  —  than  like  the  transient  contrivance  of 
altogether  such  as  ourselves.  We  come  to  think  of  it,  not  so 
umch  as  a  set  of  provisions  and  rules  which  we  can  unmake, 
amend,  and  annul,  as  of  a  guide  whom  it  is  wiser  to  follow,  an 
authority  whom  it  is  better  to  obey,  a  wisdom  which  it  is  not 
unbecoming  to  revere,  a  power  —  a  superior  —  whose  service  is 
perfect  freedom.  Thus  at  last  the  spirit  of  the  law  descends  into 
the  great  heart  of  the  people  for  healing  and  for  conservation. 
Hear  the  striking  platonisms  of  Coleridge  :  "  Strength  may  be 
met  with  strength  :  the  power  of  inflicting  pain  may  be  baf- 
fled by  the  pride  of  endurance :  the  eye  of  rage  may  be  an- 
swered by  the  stare  of  defiance,  or  the  downcast  look  of  dark 
and  revengeful  resolve  :  and  with  all  this  there  is  an  outward 
and  determined  object  to  which  the  mind  can  attach  its  pas- 
sions and  purposes,  and  bury  its  own  disquietudes  in  the  full 
occupation  of  the  senses.  But  who  dares  struggle  with  an 
invisible  combatant,  with  an  enemy  which  exists  and  makes  us 


CONSERVATIVE  FORCE  OF  THE  AMERICAN  BAR.      .j.g'J' 

know  its  existence,  but  ivJiere  it  is  we  ask  in  vain  ]  No  space 
contains  it,  time  promises  no  control  over  it,  it  has  no  ear 
for  my  threats,  it  has  no  substance  that  my  hands  can  grasp 
or  my  weapons  find  vuhierable  ;  it  commands  and  cannot  be 
commanded,  it  acts  and  is  insusceptible  of  my  reaction,  the 
more  I  strive  to  subdue  it,  the  more  am  I  compelled  to  think 
of  it,  and  the  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  do  I  find  it  to  pos- 
sess a  reality  out  of  myself,  and  not  to  be  a  phantom  of  my  own 
imagination ;  —  that  all  but  the  most  abandoned  men  acknowl- 
edge its  authority,  and  that  the  whole  strength  and  majesty  of 
my  country  are  pledged  to  support  it ;  and  yet  that  for  me  its 
power  is  the  same  with  that  of  my  own  permanent  self,  and 
that  all  the  choice  which  is  permitted  to  me  consists  in  having 
it  for  my  guardian  angel  or  my  avenging  fiend.  This  is  the 
spirit  of  Law, —  the  lute  of  Amphion,  —  the  harp  of  Orpheus. 
This  is  the  true  necessity  which  compels  man  into  the  social 
state,  now  and  always,  by  a  still  beginning,  never  ceasing, 
force  of  moral  cohesion."  ^ 

In  supposing  that  conservation  is  the  grand  and  prominent 
public  function  of  the  American  Bar  in  the  State,  I  have  not 
felt  that  I  assigned  to  a  profession,  to  which  I  count  it  so  high 
a  privilege  to  belong,  a  part  and  a  duty  at  all  beneath  its  lofti- 
est claims.  I  shall  not  deny  that  to  found  a  State  which 
grows  to  be  a  nation,  on  the  ruins  of  an  older,  or  on  a 
waste  of  earth  where  was  none  before,  is,  intrinsically  and  in 
the  judgment  of  the  world,  of  the  largest  order  of  human 
achievements.  Of  the  chief  of  men  are  the  conditores  impe- 
rionim.  But  to  keep  the  city  is  only  not  less  difficult  and 
glorious  than  to  build  it.  Both  rise,  in  the  estimate  of  the 
most  eloquent  and  most  wise  of  Romans,  to  the  rank  of  divine 
achievement.  I  appreciate  the  uses  and  the  glory  of  a  great 
and  timely  reform.  Thrice  happy  and  honored  who  leaves  the 
Constitution  better  than  he  found  it.  But  to  find  it  good  and 
keep  it  so,  this,  too,  is  virtue  and  praise. 

It  was  the  boast  of  Augustus, — as  Lord  Brougham  remem- 
bers in  the  close  of  his  speech  on  the  improvement  of  the  law, 
—  that  he  found  Rome  of  brick  and  left  it  of  marble.  Ay. 
But  he  found  Rome  free,  and  left  her  a  slave.  He  found  her 
a  republic,  and  left  her  an  empire  !     He  found  the  large  soul 

1  The  Friend. 
37* 


488  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

of  Cicero  unfolding  the  nature,  speaking-  the  high  praise,  and 
recording  the  maxims  of  regulated  liberty,  with  that  eloquence 
which  so  many  millions  of  hearts  have  owned,  —  and  he 
left  poets  and  artists  !  We  find  our  city  of  marble,  and  we 
will  leave  it  marble.  Yes,  all,  all,  up  to  the  grand,  central, 
and  eternal  dome ;  we  will  leave  it  marble,  as  we  find  it. 
To  that  office,  to  that  praise,  let  even  the  claims  of  your  pro- 
fession be  subordinated.  Pro  clientihus  scepe  '  pro  lege,  pro 
republica  semper. 


THE    ELOQUENCE    OF    REVOLUTIONARY 
PERIODS: 

A    LECTURE    DELIVERED    BEFORE    THE  MECIIANIC    APPRENTICES'     LIBRARY    ASSO- 
CIATION, FEBRUARY  19,  1857. 


If  you  consider  deliberative  eloquence,  in  its  highest  forms 
and  noblest  exertion,  to  be  the  utterances  of  men  of  genius 
practised,  earnest,  and  sincere,  according  to  a  rule  of  art,  in 
presence  of  large  assemblies,  in  great  conjunctures  of  public 
affairs,  to  inrsuade  a  People^  it  is  quite  plain  that  those  largest 
of  all  conjunctures,  which  you  properly  call  times  of  revolu- 
tion, must  demand  and  supply  a  deliberative  eloquence  all 
their  otvn. 

All  kinds  of  genius, —  I  mean  of  that  genius  whose  organ 
is  art  or  language,  and  whose  witness,  hearer,  and  judge  is 
the  eye,  ear,  imagination,  and  heart  of  cultivated  humanity, — 
if  cast  on  a  marked  and  stormy  age,  an  age  lifted  above  and 
out  of  the  even,  general  flow  of  prescriptive  life,  by  great 
changes,  new  ideas,  and  strong  passions,  extraordinary  abili- 
ties and  enterprises,  some  grand  visible  revelation  of  the  death- 
throes,  birth-times,  in  which  an  old  creation  passes  away  and 
a  new  one  comes,  to  light,  — .  all  kinds  of  such  genius,  cast  on 
such  an  age,  are  tinged  and  moulded  by  it.  None  so  hardy, 
none  so  spiritual,  none  so  individualized,  none  so  self-nourished, 
none  so  immersed  in  its  own  consciousness,  subjectivity,  and 
self-admiration,  as  not  to  own  and  bow  to  the  omnipresent 
manifested  spirit  of  the  time.  Goethe,  Byron,  Alfieri,  the 
far  mightier  Milton,  are  ready  illustrations  of  this.  Between 
them  and  that  crisis  of  the  nations,  and  of  the  race  in  which 
they  lived,  on  which  they  looked  fascinated,  entranced,  how 
influencive  and  inevitable  the  sympathy !     Into  that  bright  or 


44^0  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

dim  dream  of  enchantment,  invention,  ideality,  in  which  was 
their  poet-hfe,  how  are  the  shapes  of  this  outward  world  pro- 
jected, how  its  cries  of  despair  or  triumph  reecho  there,  that 
new  heaven  and  new  earth,  their  dwelling-place ;  how  they 
give  back  the  cloud  and  storm,  and  sunshine  and  waning 
moon  ;  how  they  breathe  tb.e  gales,  and  laugh  with  the  flowers, 
and  sadden  with  the  wastes,  of  our  earth  and  sky !  Topics, 
treatment,  thoughts,  characters,  moods,  —  how  they  all  but  imi- 
tate and  reproduce  the  real  in  the  ideal,  life  in  immortality. 
Take  the  extraordinary  instance  of  Milton.  That  England  of 
the  great  Civil  War,  the  England  of  the  Commonwealth  and 
Cromwell,  that  England  which  saw  the  king  discrowned  and 
beheaded,  the  House  of  Lords  abolished,  Puritanism  trium]>h- 
ant  on  the  bloody  days  of  Worcester  and  Dunbar,  the  delib- 
erations of  the  Long  Parliament,  the  Westminster  Assembly 
constructing  and  promulgating  its  creed  on  the  awful  mys- 
teries,—  how  does  the  presence  and  influence  of  that  England 
seem  to  haunt  you  in  "Samson  Agonistes,"  in  "Paradise  Lost," 
in  "Paradise  Regained," — a  memory,  a  sense  of  earth  revived 
in  the  peace  of  the  world  beyond  the  grave,  ages  after  death ! 
Milton's  soul,  if  ever  mortal  spirit  did  so,  "  was  a  star,  and 
dwelt  apart."  Yet  everywhere,  almost,  —  in  the  dubious  war 
on  the  plains  of  heaven  ;  in  the  debates  of  the  synod  of  fallen 
demigods  ;  in  the  tremendous  conception  of  that  pride  and  will 
and  self-trust,  which  rose  in  the  Archangel  ruined  against  the 
Highest ;  in  those  dogmas  and  those  speculations  of  theology 
which  wander  unresting,  unanswered,  through  eternity;  in  that 
tone  of  austere  independence  and  indignant  insubordination, 
obedient,  however,  to  a  higher  law  and  a  diviner  vision;  in  that 
contempt  of  other  human  judgments,  and  defiant  enunciation 
of  its  own,  —  everywhere  you  seem  to  meet  the  Puritan,  the 
Republican,  the  defender  of  the  claim  of  the  people  of  England 
to  be  free ;  the  apologist,  the  advocate  of  the  execution  of 
kings ;  the  champion  in  all  lands  and  all  ages  of  the  liberty  of 
conscience,  of  speech,  of  the  press ;  the  secretary,  the  counsel- 
lor of  Cromwell ;  the  child,  organ,  memorial  of  the  age.  That 
heroic  individuality,  what  was  it  but  the  product  of  a  hard, 
unaccommodating,  original,  mighty  nature,  moulded  and  tinged 
by  the  tragic  and  sharp  realities  of  national  revolution  ?  and  it 
seems  to  go  with  him,  partaking  of  its  mixed  original,  whith- 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS.      44,1 

ersoever  the  song-  wanders,  soars,  or  sinks,  —  in  the  paths  of 
Eden,  on  the  "  perilous  edge  of  hattle  "  waged  for  the  throne 
of  God,  in  reporting-  the  counsels  of  the  Infinite  in  the  past 
eternity,  in  haihng  the  Holy  Light  on  which  those  orhs,  over- 
plied,  as  he  consoled  himself,  in  liberty's  defence,  were  closed 
forever. 

So,  too,  of  the  lesser  hut  yet  resplendent  names  of  Goethe, 
Byron,  Alfieri :  the  spirit  of  the  time  was  as  vehement  in  them 
as  it  was  in  the  young-  Napoleon.  They  shared  its  fire,  its 
perturbed  and  towering  mind,  its  longings,  its  free  thinking, 
its  passion  of  strong  sensations,  its  deep  insights,  its  lust  of 
power  and  of  change,  and  all  its  dark  unrest,  as  fully  as  he 
did;  and  they  uttered  its  voices  in  those  troubled,  unequalled 
songs,  as  he  uttered  them  first  at  Marengo  and  Lodi  by  the 
cannon  of  his  victories. 

Sometimes  the  blessedness  of  that  great  calm  which  follows 
the  exhausted  tempest  of  the  moral  heaven,  in  which  the  winds 
go  down  and  the  billows  rock  themselves  to  sleep,  is  imaged  in 
the  poems  of  an  age.  That  most  consummate  effort  of  the 
finer  genius  of  Rome, —  the  Georgics  of  Virgil,  for  example, 

—  that  decorated,  abundant,  and  contented  Italy  that  smiles 
there ;  the  cattle,  larger  and  smaller,  on  so  many  hills  ;  the  hol- 
idays of  vintage ;  the  murmur  of  bees  ;  the  happy  husband- 
man ;  the  old,  golden  age  of  Saturn  returning,  —  what  is  all 
that  but  the  long  sigh  of  the  people  of  Rome,  the  sigh  of  Italy, 
the  sigh  of  the  world,  breathed  tiirough  that  unequalled  har- 
mony and  sensibility,  for  peace, — peace  under  its  vine  and  fig- 
tree, —  peace,  rest,  after  a  hundred  years  of  insecurity,  convul- 
sion, and  blood  I 

Now,  if  that  form  of  genius,  —  genius  in  art,  in  poetry, 
whose  end  is  delight,  whose  wanderings 

"  are  where  the  Muses  haunt 
Clear  spring,  or  shady  green,  or  sunny  hill," 

whose  nourishment  is 

"  Of  thoughts  that  voluntary  move  harmonious  numbers," 

—  if  that  kind,  —  solitary,  introspective,  the  creature  of  the 
element, —  takes  a  bias  and  a  tincture  from  a  strongly  agitated 
time,  how  much  truer  must  this  be  of  that  genius  whose  office, 
whose  art,  it  is,  by  speech,  by  deep  feelings  and  earnest  con- 


44-2  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

victions  overflowing  in  eloquent  speech,  to  communicate  with 
the  people  of  such  a  time  directly  upon  the  emotions  it  ex- 
cites, the  hopes  it  inspires,  the  duties  it  imposes,  the  tremen- 
dous alternative  it  holds  out?  How  inevitable  that  the  elo- 
quence of  revolutions  should  be  all  compact  of  the  passing 
hour  !  How  inevitable  that  the  audiences  such  seasons  as- 
semble, the  crises  hurried  onward  as  the  sea  its  succession 
of  billows,  the  great  passions  they  set  on  fire,  the  pity,  the 
terror  they  justify,  the  mighty  interests  they  place  at  stake,  the 
expansive  and  gorgeous  ideas  on  which  they  roll,  the  simplicity, 
definiteness,  and  prominence  of  the  objects  which  they  set  be- 
fore all  men's  eyes,  the  concussion,  the  stimulation  which  they 
give  to  the  whole  meditative  as  well  as  emotional  faculties  of  a 
generation,  —  how  inevitable  that  such  a  conjunctive  age  and 
revolution  should  create  its  own  style  and  tone  and  form  of 
public  speech  ! 

For,  what  is  a  revolution  "?  I  shall  call  it  that  agony  through 
which,  by  which, — the  accustomed  course,  the  accustomed  and 
normal  ebb  and  flow,  of  the  life  of  the  State,  being  violently 
suspended,  from  causes  in  part  internal,  —  a  new  nation  is 
born,  or  an  old  nation  dies,  or  by  which,  without  losing  its 
identity,  a  nation  puts  off"  its  constitution  of  tyranny  and  be- 
comes free,  self-governed,  or  is  despoiled  of  its  constitution  of 
freedom  and  becomes  enslaved,  the  slave  of  its  own  govern- 
ment. Such  a  change  as  either  of  these,  —  such  a  birth, 
such  a  dying,  such  emancipation,  such  enslavement,  —  such  a 
chang-e, —  vast,  violent,  compressed  within  some  comparatively 
brief  time,  palpable  to  all  sense  and  all  consciousness,  so  that 
thousands,  millions,  feel  together  that  the  spell  of  a  great  his- 
torical hour  is  upon  them  all  at  once,  —  such  an  one  I  call  a 
revolution.  And  these  are  they  which  are  transacted  on  the 
high  places  of  the  world,  and  make  up  the  epic  and  the  tragic 
matter  of  the  story  of  nations. 

Illustrations  of  all  these  kinds  will  readily  occur  to  you. 
Of  one  class,  of  a  revolution  in  which  a  national  life  expired, 
internal  causes  co-working  with  force  from  without,  you  see 
an  instance,  grand,  sad,  memorable  in  that  day,  when  in  the 
downward  age  of  Greece,  that  once  radiant  brow  was  struck 
by  Philip,  and  by  the  successors  of  Alexander,  forever  to  the 
earth.      Of  a   revolution  in  which  a  nation,  keeping  its  life, 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS.      4.I.3 

its  identity,  exchanged  a  g-overnment  of  freedom  for  a  gov- 
ernment of  tyranny,  you  have  an  instance,  not  less  grand 
and  memorable,  bloodier  and  fuller  of  terror  in  its  incidents 
and  instrumentalities,  in  that  time  when  republican  Rome  be- 
came the  Rome  of  the  Caesars,  and  the  dignity  of  the  Senate 
unrobed  itself,  and  the  proud  and  noble  voice  of  the  peojde  in 
the  forum  died  away  in  the  presence  of  the  purple  and  the 
guard.  Of  that  type  of  revolution  in  which  a  nation,  still 
keeping  its  life  and  identity,  exchanges  her  constitution  of 
slavery  for  one  of  freedom,  or  seems  to  do  so,  or  rises  to  do 
so,  you  will  recall  the  example  of  the  France  of  1789-  Of 
that  other  type  of  revolution  in  which  a  nation  begins,  or 
seems  to  begin,  to  be,  there  are  examples  in  Ireland  in  178^? 
in  America  in  17/6.  These,  and  such  as  these,  if  other  such 
there  are,  I  call  revolutions. 

In  some  things,  —  in  causes,  incidents,  issues,  lessons,  dis- 
tinguished from  one  another  by  some  traits  of  the  eloquence 
they  demand  and  supply,  —  there  is  a  certain  common  char- 
acter to  them  all ;  and  there  are  certain  common  peculiari- 
ties by  which  the  eloquence  of  them  all  is  sure  to  be  unlike, 
essentially,  the  whole  jniblic  speech  of  times  quieter,  happier, 
less  crowded,  less  glorious. 

Glance  first  at  the  common  characteristics  of  all  the  delib- 
erative eloquence  of  all  the  classes  of  revolutions,  as  I  have 
defined  revolution. 

If  you  bear  in  mind  that  the  aim  of  deliberative  eloquence 
is  to  persuade  to  an  action^  and  that  to  persuade  to  an  action 
it  must  be  shown  that  to  perform  it  will  gratify  some  one 
of  the  desires  or  affections  or  sentiments,  —  you  may  call 
them,  altogether,  passions,  —  which  are  the  springs  of  all 
action,  some  love  of  our  own  happiness,  some  love  of  our 
country,  some  love  of  man,  some  love  of  honor,  some  ap- 
proval of  our  own  conscience,  some  fear  or  some  love  of 
God,  you  see  that  eloquence  will  be  characterized,  —  first, 
by  the  nature  of  the  actions  to  which  it  persuades  ;  secondly, 
by  the  nature  of  the  desire  or  affection  or  sentiment, —  the 
nature  of  the  passion,  in  other  words,  —  by  appeal  to  which  it 
seeks  to  persuade  to  the  action  ;  and  then,  I  say,  that  the  capi- 
tal peculiarity  of  the  eloquence  of  all  times  of  revolution,  as  I 
have  described  revolution,  is  that  the  actions  it  persuades  to 


444-  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

are  the  highest  and  most  heroic  which  men  can  do,  and  the 
passions  it  would  inspire,  in  order  to  persuade  to  them,  are  the 
most  lofty  which  man  can  feel.  "  High  actions  and  high  pas- 
sions," —  such  are  Milton's  words,  —  high  actions  through 
and  by  high  passions ;  these  are  the  end  and  these  the  means 
of  the  orator  of  the  revolution. 

Hence  are  his  topics  large,  simple,  intelligible,  affecting. 
Hence  are  his  views  broad,  impressive,  popular ;  no  trivial 
details,  no  wire-woven  developments,  no  subtle  distinctions  and 
drawing  of  fine  lines  about  the  boundaries  of  ideas,  no  specu- 
lation, no  ingenuity;  all  is  elemental,  comprehensive,  intense, 
practical,  unqualified,  undoubting.  It  is  not  of  the  small 
things  of  minor  and  instrumental  politics  he  comes  to  speak, 
or  men  come  to  hear.  It  is  not  to  speak  or  to  hear  about 
permitting  an  Athenian  citizen  to  change  his  tribe ;  about 
permitting  the  Roman  Knights  to  have  jurisdiction  of  trials 
equally  with  the  Senate  ;  it  is  not  about  allowing  a  <£10  house- 
holder to  vote  for  a  member  of  Parliament ;  about  duties  on 
indigo,  or  onion-seed,  or  even  tea. 

"  That  strain  you  bear  is  of  an  higher  mood." 

It  is  the  rallying  cry  of  patriotism,  of  liberty,  in  the  sublimest 
crisis  of  the  State, —  of  man.  It  is  a  deliberation  of  empire,  of 
glory,  of  existence  on  which  they  come  together.  To  be  or 
not  to  be, —  that  is  the  question.  Shall  the  children  of  the 
men  of  Marathon  become  slaves  of  Philip  ]  Shall  the  majesty 
of  the  senate  and  people  of  Rome  stoop  to  wear  the  chains 
forging  by  the  military  executors  of  the  will  of  Julius  Ceesar  ? 
Shall  the  assembled  representatives  of  France,  just  waking 
from  her  sleep  of  ages  to  claim  the  rights  of  man, —  shall  they 
disperse,  their  work  undone,  their  work  just  commencing; 
and  shall  they  disperse  at  the  order  of  the  king  ^  or  shall  the 
messenger  be  bid  to  go,  in  the  thunder-tones  of  Mirabeau, 
—  and  tell  his  master  that  "  we  sit  here  to  do  the  will  of 
our  constituents,  and  that  we  will  not  be  moved  from  these 
seats  but  by  the  point  of  the  bayonet  "  ?  Shall  Ireland  bound 
upward  from  her  long  prostration,  and  cast  from  her  the  last 
link  of  the  British  chain,  and  shall  she  advance  "from  injuries 
to  arms,  from  arms  to  liberty,"  from  liberty  to  glory  ^ 

Shall  the  thirteen  Colonies  become,  and  be,  free  and  inde- 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS.      4^5 

pendent  States,  and  come  unabashed,  unterrified,  an  equal,  into 
the  majestic  assembly  of  the  nations  ^  These  are  the  thoughts 
with  which  all  bosoms  are  distended  and  oppressed.  Filled 
with  these,  with  these  flashin<i^  in  every  eye,  swelling  every 
heart,  pervading  electric  all  ages,  all  orders,  like  a  visitation, 
"  an  unquenchable  public  fire,"  men  come  together,  —  the 
thousands  of  Athens  around  the  Bema,  or  in  the  Temple  of 
Dionysus,  —  the  people  of  Rome  in  the  forum,  the  Senate  in 
that  council-chamber  of  the  world,  —  the  masses  of  France,  as 
the  spring-tide,  into  her  gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  her  club- 
rooms,  her  hall  of  the  convention,  —  the  representatives,  the 
genius,  the  grace,  the  beauty  of  Ireland  into  the  Tuscan  Gal- 
lery of  her  House  of  Commons,  —  the  delegates  of  the  Colo- 
nies into  the  Hall  of  Independence  at  Philadelphia, — thus  men 
come,  in  an  hour  of  revolution,  to  hang  upon  the  lips  from 
which  they  hope,  they  need,  they  demand,  to  hear  the  things 
which  belong  to  their  national  salvation,  hungering  for  the 
bread  of  life. 

And  then  and  thus  comes  the  orator  of  that  time,  kin- 
dling with  their  fire ;  sympathizing  with  that  great  beating 
heart ;  penetrated,  not  subdued  ;  lifted  up  rather  by  a  sub- 
lime and  rare  moment  of  history  made  real  to  his  conscious- 
ness ;  charged  with  the  very  mission  of  life,  yet  unassured 
whether  they  will  hear  or  will  forbear ;  transcendent  good 
within  their  grasp,  yet  a  possibility  that  the  fatal  and  critical 
opportunity  of  salvation  will  be  wasted ;  the  last  evil  of  na- 
tions and  of  men  overhanging,  yet  the  siren  song  of  peace  — 
peace  when  there  is  no  peace  —  clianted  madly  by  some  voice 
of  sloth  or  fear,  —  there  and  thus  the  orators  of  revolutions 
come  to  w^ork  their  work  !  And  what  then  is  demanded,  and 
how  it  is  to  be  done,  you  all  see  ;  and  that  in  some  of  the 
characteristics  of  their  eloquence  they  must  all  be  alike.  Ac- 
tions, not  law  or  policy,  whose  growth  and  fruits  are  to  be 
slowly  evolved  by  time  and  calm  ;  actions  daring,  doubtful  but 
instant ;  the  new  things  of  a  new  world,  —  tliese  are  what 
the  speaker  counsels  ;  large,  elementary,  gorgeous  ideas  of 
right,  of  equality,  of  independence,  of  liberty,  of  progress 
through  convulsion,  —  these  are  the  principles  from  which 
he  reasons,  ivhen  he  reasons,  —  these  are  the  pinions  of  the 
thought  on  which  he  soars  and  stays  ;  and  then  the  primeval 
VOL.  I.  38 


446  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

and  indestructible  sentiments  of  the  breast  of  man,  —  his 
sense  of  right,  his  estimation  of  himself,  his  sense  of  honor, 
his  love  of  fame,  his  triumph  and  his  joy  in  the  dear  name 
of  country,  the  trophies  that  tell  of  the  past,  the  hopes  that 
gild  and  herald  her  dawn,  —  these  are  the  springs  of  action 
to  which  he  appeals,  —  these  are  the  chords  his  fingers  sweep, 
and  from  which  he  draws  out  the  troubled  music,  "  solemn  as 
death,  serene  as  the  undying  confidence  of  patriotism,"  to 
which  he  would  have  the  battalions  of  the  people  march  ! 
Directness,  plainness,  a  narrow  range  of  topics,  few  details, 
few  but  grand  ideas,  a  headlong  tide  of  sentiment  and 
feeling ;  vehement,  indignant,  and  reproachful  reasonings,  — 
winged  general  maxims  of  wisdom  and  life ;  an  example 
from  Plutarch ;  a  pregnant  sentence  of  Tacitus ;  thoughts 
going  forth  as  ministers  of  nature  in  robes  of  light,  and 
with  arms  in  their  hands ;  thoughts  that  breathe  and  words 
that  burn,  —  these  vaguely,  approximately,  express  the  gen- 
eral type  of  all  this  speech. 

I  have  spoken  of  some  characteristics  common  to  the  elo- 
quence of  all  revolutions.  But  they  differ  from  one  another ; 
and  their  eloquence  differs  too. 

Take  first  that  instance  —  sad,  grand,  and  memorable  for- 
ever —  in  which  Greece,  prepared  for  it  by  causes  act- 
ing within,  perished  at  last  by  the  gold  and  the  phalanx  of 
Macedon.  The  orator  of  that  time  is  the  first  name  in  the 
ancient  eloquence,  in  some  respects  —  in  the  transcendent 
opportunity  of  his  life  and  death  at  least  —  the  first  name  in 
all  eloquence,  —  Demosthenes. 

Begin  with  him,  —  the  orator  of  the  nation  which  is  ex- 
piring. The  most  Athenian  of  the  Athenians,  the  most 
Greek  of  all  the  Greeks,  it  was  his  mission  to  utter  the  last 
and  noblest  protest  of  Grecian  independence,  and  to  pour  out 
the  whole  gathered,  traditional,  passionate  patriotism  of  the 
freest  and  most  country-loving  of  all  the  races  of  man,  in  one 
final  strain  of  higher  mood  than  the  world  before  or  since  has 
heard.  The  scheme  of  politics,  the  ethics,  the  public  ser- 
vice, the  eloquence,  the  whole  life,  of  this  man  have  all  the 
unity  and  consistency  of  parts,  —  all  the  simplicity  and  rapid 
and  transparent  flow  of  a  masterpiece  of  Attic  art.  That 
dying  hour  in  the  Temple  of  Neptune  brought  the  long  tragic 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS.     44-^ 

action  with  a  befitting-  grandeur  and  terror  and  pity  to  its 
close.  At  the  moment  when  he  became  of  ajje  to  take  on 
him  the  first  duties  of  Athenian  citizenship,  he  saw  soonest  of 
his  countrymen,  with  keenest  and  justest  discernment,  that  the 
independence  of  Athens — the  independence  of  the  whole  old 
historical  Greece  —  was  directly  and  formidably  assailed  by 
the  arms  and  the  gold  of  a  rising,  half-barbarous  military 
monarcliy  on  its  northern  frontier.  If  that  Philip  —  if  that 
Alexander  —  succeeded  in  the  design  so  transparent  to  his 
eye, — so  transparent  to  ours  now,  though  some  good  men 
and  wise  men  could  not  yet  see  it  so,  —  the  Greece  of  his 
birth,  pride,  and  love,  —  that  fair,  kindred  group  of  States, 
not  straitly  united  by  a  constitution,  yet  to  him,  by  lan- 
guage, by  blood,  by  culture,  by  institutions,  by  tradition,  by 
trophies,  —  "  the  descent  and  concatenation  and  distribution 
of  glory,"  —  by  disdain  of  masters  abroad  and  tyrants  at 
home,  seeming  to  him  a  beautiful  identity,  —  that  Greece 
would  perish  for  evermore.  To  frustrate  that  design,  was  the 
one  single  effort  of  the  public  life  of  Demosthenes  of  thirty 
years.  To  devise,  to  organize  and  a)iply,  the  means  of  doing 
so,,  was  the  one  single  task  of  all  his  statesmanship,  all  his 
diplomacy,  all  his  plans  of  finance,  all  his  political  combina- 
tions, all  his  matchless  eloquence. 

Whatsoever  of  usefulness,  or  goodness,  or  grandeur  there 
is  in  patriotism, — that  patriotism  which  is  employed  in  keep- 
ing its  country  alive,  —  all  this  praise  is  his.  Some  there 
were  in  that  downward  age  —  some  ponderous  historians  of 
Greece  there  are  now  —  who  said  and  say  that  a  Macedonian 
conquest  was  not  so  bad  a  thing  ;  that  it  was  not  so  much 
a  dying  of  Greece  as  a  new  life  in  another  body,  a  higher 
being,  a  mere  transmutation  of  matter,  a  mere  diffusion  of 
the  race  and  language,  the  fountain  merely  sinking  into  the 
earth  in  Attica  to  rise  in  Syria,  to  rise  in  Alexandria.  All 
these  metajjhysics  of  history  w^ere  lost  on  him.  He  felt 
like  a  Greek  who  was  a  Greek.  He  felt  that  the  identity  of 
Greek  political  life  consisted  in  this  :  that  it  owned  no  foreign 
master,  and  that  it  acknowledged  no  despotic  single  will  at 
home.  Independence  of  all  the  world  without ;  self-govern- 
ment ;  the  rule  and  the  obedience  of  law  self-imposed  ;  rights 
and   obligations   reciprocally   due,  —  due   from    man   to  man 


44*8  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

within  the  city,  under  the  constitution,  —  this  was  in  essence 
Grecian  pubHc  life  —  Grecian  hfe.  Love  of  beauty  and  of 
glory,  faultless  taste,  subtilty  and  fancy  in  supreme  degree, 
overflowing  in  an  art,  a  poetry,  a  speculative  philosophy,  an 
eloquence,  a  whole  literature,  —  making  up  so  large  a  part  of 
our  manifold  and  immortal  inheritance  from  the  past,  —  this 
was  greatness  too,  certainly.  But  it  is  in  her  pride  of  inde- 
pendence, and  in  her  tempestuous  internal  freedom  ;  it  is  in 
Marathon  or  Thermopylae  and  the  games  of  the  Olympia  — 
and  that  stormy,  quick-witted,  wilful  and  passionate  people  — 
that  he  recognized,  that  we  recognize  the  true  and  nobler 
individuality. 

To  keep  all  this  against  the  gold  and  the  spear  of  that 
half  civilized  military  despotism  —  in  the  first  rising  strength 
of  a  new  national  life  —  was  the  mission,  say  rather  the  high 
endeavor  of  Demosthenes.  To  this  for  a  lifetime  he  save 
himself,  —  he  abandoned  himself,  —  nor  rested  till  all  was 
over  ;  and  a  little  poison  in  a  ring  was  all  the  dying  mother 
could  leave  her  child  to  help  him  escape  her  murderers  and 
his;  death  by  poison  in  the  temple  on  the  island,  —  praise, 
tears,  and  admiration  through  all  time. 

You  see  at  once,  in  the  singleness  and  simplicity,  yet 
difficulty  and  grandeur,  of  the  work  he  had  to  work,  an 
explanation  of  many  of  the  characteristics  of  his  eloquence 
usually  dwelt  on,  —  its  directness,  its  perspicuity,  its  disdain 
of  ornament,  its  freedom  from  dissertation,  and  refining, 
and  detail,  and  wearisome  development,  —  the  fewness  of  its 
topics,  the  limited  range  of  its  ideas,  —  its  harmony  and  iinitij 
of  spirit  and  effect,  —  the  whole  speech  of  three  hours 
seeming  but  one  blow  of  a  thunderbolt,  by  which  a  tower,  a 
furlong  of  a  city-wall,  might  tumble  down,  —  its  austere, 
almost  fierce,  gloomy  intensity  and  earnestness,  —  its  rapidity 
and  vehemence,  —  the  indignation,  the  grief,  the  wonder,  the 
love  which  seem  to  cry  out,  "  Why  will  ye  die  \  " 

But  this  brings  me  to  say  that  there  are  other  character- 
istics less  spoken  of :  here  and  there  through  these  grand 
exhortations  there  breathes  another  tone,  for  which  you  must 
seek  another  solution.  That  spirit  —  so  vehement,  so  enthu- 
siastic, so  hopeful,  so  bold  —  was  clear-sighted  too  ;  and  he 
could  not  fail  to   discern   in   all    thinofs    around   him   but   too 


THE   ELOQUENCE   OF  REVOLUTIONARY   PERIODS.     4,49 

much  cause  to  fear  that  he  had  come  on  the  last  times  of 
Greece.  Yes,  he  might  well  see  and  feel  that  it  was  his  to 
be  the  orator  of  the  expiring^  nation  ! 

The  old  public  life  of  Greece  was  in  its  decay.  The  out- 
ward, visible  Athens  seemed  unchanged.  There  she  sat,  as 
in  the  foretime,  on  her  citadel  rock,  in  sight  of  her  aux- 
iliar  sea,  crowned,  garlanded,  wanton,  with  all  beauty,  all 
glory,  and  all  delight.  Yet  all  was  changed  !  There  stood 
the  walls  of  Themistocles ;  but  the  men  of  Marathon,  where 
were  they  ?  Instead  —  vanity,  effisminacy,  sensual  self-indul- 
gence, sordid  avarice,  distrust  of  the  gods,  —  the  theatre,  the 
banquet,  the  garland  dripping  with  Samian  wine! 

The  second  childhood  had  come.  Like  their  own  grass- 
hoppers, they  would  make  their  old  age  an  ungraceful  infancy, 
an  evening  revel,  and  sing  their  fill.  Gleams  of  the  once 
matchless  race  and  time  broke  through  here  and  there,  and 
played  on  the  surface,  as  the  sun  setting  on  Salamis  ;  but  the 
summer  was  ending  ;  the  day  was  far  spent ;  the  bright  con- 
summate flower  that  never  mi^ht  in  other  climate  grow,  was 
fain  to  bow  to  the  dread  decree  of  eternal  change  ! 

The  great  statesman  was  himself  unchanged.  His  whole 
public  life,  therefore,  was  a  contention.  It  was  one  long 
breathing,  one  long  trust,  one  long  prayer  that  these  dry 
bones  might  live. 

Therefore,  also,  ever,  there  seems  to  me  through  all  that 
fire,  sublimity,  and  confidence,  a  certain  —  I  know  not  what  I 
should  call  it  —  a  half-indulged,  half-repressed  consciousness 
that  all  is  lost,  and  all  is  vain  !  It  is  as  if  the  orator  were 
a  prophet  too,  and  the  vision  he  saw  confronted  and  saddened 
the  speech  he  uttered.  There  is  the  expostulation,  the  re- 
proach, the  anger,  the  choking  grief  of  a  patriot  who  has  his 
whole  country,  literally,  within  the  sound  of  his  voice,  among 
the  scenes  of  all  their  glory,  who  knows  —  who  thinks  he 
knows — as  well  as  he  knows  his  own  existence,  that  if  they 
WILL,  they  SHALL  be  free,  —  who  cannot  let  go  tlie  dear  and 
sweetest  error,  if  it  is  so,  of  salvation  possible  to  the  State, 
and  yet,  when  the  pause  of  exhaustion  comes,  and  the  vision 
his  wishes  had  sketched  shows  less  palpably,  and  the  glow  of 
the  spirit  sinks,  almost  owns  to  himself  that  the  hope  he  felt 
was  but  the  resolution  of  despair. 

38* 


450  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

"  I  see  a  hand  you  cannot  see, 
I  hear  a  voice  you  cannot  hear ! " 

Three  days  of  this  man's  life  stand  out  to  the  imagination 
from  its  grand,  sad,  general  tenor. 

First  of  these  was  that  in  his  thirtieth  year  when  he  pro- 
nounced Iiis  first  oration  against  Philip  of  Macedon.  That 
day  —  without  office,  without  even  call  hy  the  people,  without 
waiting  for  the  veteran  haranguers  and  advisers  of  the  city 
toward  whom  the  assembly  was  looking  to  hear,  when  the 
sacrifices  had  been  performed,  and  the  herald  had  made  procla- 
mation —  he  went  up  to  counsel  his  countrymen  ;  and  when 
he  had  concluded,  he,  the  son  of  the  sword  manufacturer,  —  a 
young  man,  in  the  yet  early  flush  and  enthusiasm  of  public 
virtue,  —  had  practically,  without  formal  suffrage,  elevated 
himself  to  the  chief  magistracy  of  Athens  for  all  the  future 
lifetime  of  Athenian  freedom.  He  sprung  up  that  day  by 
one  bound  to  this  heijjht  so  dazzling-,  and  there  he  stood  till 
the  eye  of  Greece  was  closed  forever.  As  he  came  down 
from  that  stage  on  which  Pericles  had  spoken  to  a  former  gen- 
eration, not  unconscious  of  the  actual  triumph,  some  feeling 
of  the  greater  future  in  the  instant, —  a  grave  expectation  on 
that  stern,  melancholy  face,  that  the  midnight  studies  in  the 
cave  by  the  sea  had  loosed  the  tongue  of  the  stammerer  ;  that 
the  closed  lips  had  been  touched  by  fire,  and  the  deep  mirac- 
ulous fountain  of  eloquence  been  unsealed,  —  I  can  imagine 
him  to  say,  "  And  these  applauses  I  have  won  by  no  flattery 
of  the  people  ;  no  sophistries ;  no  rhetoric ;  no  counsels  of 
self-indulgence  ;  no  siren  song  transforming  to  beasts  !  As  I 
have  won  let  me  keep  them.  Be  mine  to  avow  that  without 
regenerated  Athens  Greece  already  has  her  master.  Be  mine 
to  open  my  country's  eye  to  the  whole  danger  and  the  single 
remedy  ;  to  turn  these  States  away  from  their  idle  fears  of 
Persia  and  their  senseless  jealousy  of  each  other,  and  fix 
their  apprehensions  on  their  true  enemy,  perhaps  their  de- 
stroyer, this  soldier  of  Macedon.  Be  mine  to  persuade  old 
men  and  rich  men  to  give,  and  young  men,  spurning  away 
the  aid  of  mercenaries,  themselves  to  strike  for  Greece  by  sea 
and  land  as  in  her  heroic  time.  Be  mine  to  lift  up  the  heart 
of  this  Athens  ;  to  erect  the  spirit  of  this  downward  age  ;  to 
reenthrone   the   sentiment  of   duty   for   its   own   sake,  —  the 


THE   ELOQUENCE    OF   REVOLUTIONARY  TERIODS.     45 1 

glory  of  effort,  the  glory  of  self-sacrifice  and  of  suffering,  — 
to  reentiiroue  these  fading  sentiments  in  the  soul  of  my  peo- 
ple, —  or  all  is  lost  —  is  lost !  " 

And  as  these  thoughts  which  emhody  his  exact  whole  pub- 
lic life  came  on  him,  I  can  imagine  him  turning  a\\'ay  from 
the  applauses  of  an  audience  that  had  found  hy  a  sure  instinct 
in  that  essay  of  an  hour  its  mightiest  orator  in  that  young 
man,  —  turning  the  sight  up  from  the  Salamis  and  the  busy 
city  beneath,  and  pausing  to  stay  his  spirit  by  the  cheerful  and 
fair  religions  of  the  Acropolis,  —  that  temple,  that  fortress, 
that  gallery  of  the  arts,  —  serene  and  steadfast  as  the  floor  of 
Olympus,  —  and  then  descending  homewards  to  begin  his 
great  trust  of  guiding  the  public  life  of  expiring  Greece. 

Turn  to  his  next  great  day.  Twelve  years  have  passed, 
and  the  liberties  of  Greece  have  been  cloven  down  at  Chaero- 
nea  forever.  Philip  is  dead,  and  the  young  Alexander  is  mas- 
ter. And  now,  in  this  hour  of  her  humiliation,  he  who  had 
advised  and  directed  the  long  series  of  her  unavailing  warfare  ; 
to  whose  eloquence,  to  whose  fond  dream,  to  whose  activity, 
to  whose  desperate  fidelity  incorrupt,  she  owed  it,  that  she  had 
fallen  as  became  the  mother  of  the  men  of  Marathon,  —  he  is 
arraigned  for  this  whole  public  life,  and  rises  before  an  au- 
dience gathered  of  all  Greece  —  gathered  of  all  the  lettered 
world,  to  vindicate  his  title  to  the  crown. 

The  youthful  orator  has  grown  to  be  a  man  of  fifty-two. 
For  him,  for  Greece,  the  future  now  is  indeed  a  dream. 
Some  possible  chance,  some  god,  some  oracle,  may  give  to 
strike  another  blow  ;  but  for  the  present  all  is  over  —  is  over  ! 
It  is  the  glory  or  the  shame  of  the  past  which  is  to  be  appre- 
ciated now.  It  is  the  dead  for  freedom  for  whom  he  is  to  give 
account.  It  is  for  a  perished  nation  that  he  comes  there  and 
then  to  be  judged.  Others  have  laid  down  the  trust  of  public 
life  at  the  close  of  splendid  successes.  His  administration  saw 
liberty  and  the  State  expire.  Others  could  point  the  nation 
they  had  been  conducting  to  some  land  of  promise  beyond  the 
river ;  to  some  new  field  and  new  age  of  greatness ;  "  to 
future  sons  and  daughters  yet  unborn,"  and  so  challenge  the 
farewell  applauses  of  their  time.  He  and  his  Athens  had  lost 
all  things,  —  independence,  national  life,  hope,  all  things  but 
honor ;    and    how   should    he    answer,   in    that    day,   for    his 


4*52  LECTURES    AND   ADDRESSES. 

share  in  contributing  to  a  calamity  so  accomplished  ?  How 
he  answered  all  men  know.  In  the  noblest  deliberative  dis- 
course ever  uttered  by  mortal  lips,  there,  in  their  presence  who 
had  seen  his  outgoings  and  incomings  for  his  whole  public 
life,  who  had  known  his  purity,  his  wisdom,  his  civil  courage; 
who  had  sympathized,  had  trembled,  had  kindled  with  all 
his  emotions  of  a  lifetime  :  in  whose  half-extinguished  virtue 
he  had  lighted  up  the  fire  of  a  better  age,  he  reviewed  that 
grand  and  melancholy  story ;  he  gave  them  to  see  through 
that  pictured  retrospect  how  it  had  been  appointed  to  them  to 
act  in  the  final  extremity  of  Greece  ;  what  dignity,  what 
responsibleness,  what  tragic  and  pathetic  interest,  had  belonged 
to  their  place  and  fortunes ;  how  they  had  been  singled  out  to 
strike  the  last  blow  for  the  noblest  cause  ;  and  how  gloriously 
they  had  been  minded,  without  calculation  of  the  chances  of 
success  or  failure,  to  stand  or  fall  in  the  passes  of  the  dear 
mother  land  !  All  that  Greece  had  in  her  of  the  historical 
past  —  all  of  letters,  refinement,  renowned  grace  and  liberty 
—  all  was  represented  by  you,  and  nobly  have  ye  striven  to 
defend  it  all  !  Grandly  ye  resolved ;  grandly  ye  have  resisted  ; 
grandly  have  ye  fallen  ! 

That  day  he  read  his  history  in  a  nation's  eyes.  The  still 
just,  stricken  heart  of  the  people  of  Athens  folded  the  orator- 
statesman  to  its  love,  and  set  on  his  head  forever  the  crown  of 
gold  ! 

One  day  more  was  wanting  to  that  high  tragic  part,  and 
how  that  was  discharged  Plutarch  and  Lucian  have  imagined 
strikingly.  If  it  were  a  death  self-inflicted,  our  moral  judg- 
ments must  deeply  deplore  and  condemn.  Some  uncertainty 
attends  the  act ;  and  from  the  Grecian  stand-point,  we  may 
admit  its  pathos  and  own  its  grandeur. 

Sixteen  years  had  now  passed  since  the  fatal  battle  of  Ch?e- 
ronea,  —  eight  since  the  pleading  for  the  crown.  He  was 
now  in  the  sixtieth  year  of  his  life.  In  that  time  the  final 
struggle  of  Greece  was  attempted,  —  another  attempt,  —  and 
all  was  over.  In  August,  three  hundred  and  twenty-two  years 
before  Christ,  a  decisive  victory  of  the  Macedonians  had  scat- 
tered the  hasty  levies  of  the  Greeks,  —  the  Macedonian  con- 
queror came  near  to  Athens  ;  stationed  a  garrison  of  her 
conquerors  above  the   harbor  to  command   it ;    abolished  the 


THE  ELOQUENCE   OF   REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS.     453 

democratical  constitution,  and  decreed  the  banishment  of  t\relve 
thousand  Athenian  citizens.  One  thing  more  was  wanting  to 
attest  that  Athens,  that  Greece  had  completely  perished  at 
length — and  that  was  the  surrender  of  the  orator  to  atone 
by  death  for  the  resistance  which  he  had  so  long  persuaded 
his  coinitrymen  to  attempt  against  her  ultimate  destroyer. 
This  surrender  the  conqueror  demanded.  He  had  no  longer 
a  country  to  protect  him  by  arms.  Could  she  do  it  by  her 
gods  ?  He  withdrew  to  an  island  some  miles  from  Athens, 
and  there  sought  an  asylum  in  the  temple  of  Neptune.  The 
exile  hunter  came  with  his  Thracians  to  the  door,  and  would 
have  persuaded  him  to  commit  himself  to  what  he  called  the 
clemency  of  the  king  of  ^lacedon.  I  give  the  rest  in  a  free 
translation  from  Lucien. 

"  I  dread  the  clemency  which  you  offer  me,"  he  answered, 
"  more  than  the  torture  and  death  for  which  I  had  been  look- 
ing ;  for  I  cannot  bear  that  it  be  reported  that  the  king  has 
corrupted  me  by  the  promise  of  life  to  desert  the  ranks  of 
Greece,  and  stand  in  those  of  Macedon.  Glorious  and  beau- 
tiful I  should  have  thought  it,  if  that  life  could  have  been 
guarded  by  my  country ;  by  the  fleet ;  by  the  walls  which  I 
have  builded  for  her  ;  by  the  treasury  I  have  filled  ;  by  her 
constitution  of  popular  liberty ;  by  her  assemblies  of  freemen  ; 
by  her  ancestral  glory ;  by  the  love  of  my  countrymen  who 
have  crowned  me  so  often ';  by  Greece  which  I  have  saved 
hitherto.  But  since  this  may  not  be,  if  it  is  thus  that  this 
island,  this  sea,  this  temple  of  Neptune,  these  altars,  these 
sanctities  of  religion  cannot  keep  me  from  the  court  of  the 
king  of  Macedon,  a  spectacle,  —  a  slave,  —  I,  Demosthenes, 
whom  nature  never  formed  for  disgrace,  —  I,  who  have  drunk 
in  from  Xenophon,  from  Plato,  the  hope  of  immortalitv,  —  I, 
for  the  honor  of  Athens,  prefer  death  to  slavery,  and  wrap 
myself  thus  about  with  liberty,  the  fairest  winding  sheet!" 
And  so  he  drew^  the  poison  from  his  ring,  and  smiled  and 
bade  the  tyrant  farewell,  and  died,  snatched  opportunely  away 
by  some  god,  his  attendant  reported,  —  great  unconquered 
soul  ;   and  the  voice  of  Greece  was  hushed  forever. 

Next  for  instruction  and  impressiveness  to  the  revolution  by 
which  a  nation  dies,  is  that  in  which,  preserving  its  life,  it  is 
compelled  to  exchange  a  constitution  of  freedom  fur  the  gov- 


454  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

ernment  of  tyranny.  And  in  this  class  the  grandest,  most 
bloody,  memorable,  and  instructive  in  the  history  of  man,  is 
that  by  which  republican  Rome  became  the  Rome  of  the 
Caesars ;  and  senate,  consul,  knights,  tribune,  people,  the 
occasional  dictator,  all  were  brought  down  on  a  wide  equality 
of  servitude  before  the  emperor  and  the  army.  Of  the  aspect 
of  such  a  revolution  in  eloquence,  you  have  an  illustration  of 
extraordinary  interest  and  splendor  in  the  instance  of  Cicero, 
that  greatest  name  by  far  of  the  whole  Roman  mental  and  let- 
tered culture,  —  the  most  consummate  production  of  the  Latin 
type  of  genius,  —  the  one  immortal  voice  of  the  Latin  speech, 
by  universal  consent ;  teacher,  consoler,  benefactor  of  all  ages, 
—  in  whom  Augustine  and  Erasmus  could  find  and  love  a 
kind  of  anticipated  approximative  Christianity.  Turning  fi'om 
all  he  wrote,  spoke,  did,  and  suffered  beside,  all  his  other 
studies,  all  his  other  praise,  fix  your  eye  on  him  now,  as  the 
the  orator  of  the  expiring  liberty  of  the  commonwealth. 

He  was  murdered,  in  the  sixty-fourth  year  of  his  life,  by 
the  triumvirate  of  soldiers,  Augustus,  Lepidus,  and  Mark 
Antony,  who  had  just  consummated  the  overthrow  of  that 
republic,  extinguished  the  hopes  the  death  of  Julius  Ccesar 
had  excited,  and  were  in  the  act  to  set  up  the  frowning 
arch  of  the  ranged  empire.  His  death  not  only  closed  the 
prescription,  as  Antony  said,  but  it  did  more  ;  it  closed  and 
crowned,  with  a  large,  tragic  interest,  that  most  stupendous 
of  revolutions  which,  beginning  years  before,  (he  is  a  wise 
man  who  can  tell  you  when  it  began),  transformed  at  length 
republican  Rome  into  the  Rome  of  Augustus,  of  Tiberius,  and 
passed  the  dominion  of  the  world,  from  the  senate  and  people 
of  the  one  Eternal  City,  to  an  Emperor  and  his  legions. 
With  his  life  the  light  of  freedom  went  out.  Till  that  voice 
was  hushed  the  triumph  of  despotism  seemed  insecure ;  it 
was  fit,  her  grandest  themes  and  her  diviner  nourishment  of 
liberty  forbidden,  that  eloquence  should  die. 

No  great  man's  life  had  ever  a  grander  close.  The  stream 
of  the  revolution  in  which  the  republic  was  to  perish  had 
swept  all  Rome  along,  him  with  the  rest,  unsymj)athizing, 
resisting.  It  seemed  to  have  consummated  the  downfall  of 
the  constitution  when  it  made  Julius  Ctesar  perpetual  dictator. 
But  he  was  slain  by  the  conspirators  in  March  of  the  forty- 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS.      4,55 

fourth  year  before  Christ ;  aiul  with  this  event,  thoiigli  he  had 
not  been  of  the  conspiracy,  tlie  hopes  of  Cicero  to  stay  the 
bloody  and  dark  tide,  and  to  reestablish  and  reform  the  consti- 
tution of  the  republic,  revived  at  once ;  and  thenceforward, 
with  scarcely  the  intermission  of  sleep,  he  gave  himself  to  the 
last  —  they  proved  to  be  last  —  proud  and  sad  offices  of  Ro- 
man liberty,  until  all  such  hopes  were  quenched  in  his  blood. 
In  that  interval  of  not  quite  two  years,  I  rejoice  to  say  that  no 
worshipper  of  the  Caesars  of  that  day  or  this,  no  envier  and 
sneerer  at  transcendent  and  prescriptive  reputations,  no  labori- 
ous pedant  judging  of  high  souls  by  his  own  small  one,  and 
loving  his  own  crotchet  better  than  the  fame  of  the  truly  great 
departed, —  no  Appian,  nor  Dion  Cassius,  nor  Dr.  Hooke,  nor 
Merivale,  nor  Drumann,  —  not  one  of  them  in  those  last  two 
years  pretends  to  find  by  his  microscope  fitted  into  the  end  of 
his  telescope,  one  spot  on  the  sun  going  down.  In  all  things 
and  in  all  places  of  duty,  by  wise  counsels  given  freely,  by 
correspondence  with  the  generals  of  the  republic  in  arms,  by 
personal  intercourse  with  patriots  at  Rome,  by  univeisal  activ- 
ity and  effective  influence,  by  courage,  by  contempt  of  death, 
by  eloquence,  ringing  sweeter  and  nobler  in  the  senate-house 
and  in  the  meetings  of  the  people,  each  strain  sweeter  and 
nobler  than  the  former  till  the  last,  —  he  shone  out,  last  and 
greatest  of  Romans.  "  For  myself,"  he  said,  in  one  of  the 
fourteen  immortal  discourses  in  the  senate,  "  I  make  this  pro- 
fession. I  defended  the  Commonwealth  when  I  was  young. 
I  will  not  desert  her  now  that  I  am  old.  I  despised  the 
swords  of  Catiline ;  shall  I  tremble  at  those  of  Antony  ? 
Nay,  joyfully  rather  would  I  yield  this  frame  to  a  bloody 
death,  if  so  I  might  win  back  freedom  to  the  State."  That 
lofty  profession  he  held  fast  —  to  the  end.  That  death  it  was 
his  to  welcome !  It  could  not  give  to  Rome  the  freedom  for 
which  she  was  no  longer  fit ;  yet  had  he  ''  the  consolation,  the 
joy,  the  triumph  "  not  to  survive  it,  and  to  leave  an  example, 
which  is  of  the  lessons  of  liberty  and  glory  unblamed,  to-day 
and  forever. 

I  know  very  well  that  there  is  a  theory  of  history,  and 
rather  a  taking  theory  too,  which  would  bereave  bin),  and  all 
the  other  great  names  of  the  last  ages  of  the  republic,  of 
their  wreath,  and  set  it  on  the  brow  of  the  first  Caesar  and  the 


456  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

second,  of  Julius  Ceesar  and  Csesar  Aug-ustus.  There  is  a 
theory,  that  it  was  time  the  republic  should  end,  and  the  em- 
pire begin.  Liberty,  they  say,  had  failed  splendidly.  It  had 
grown  an  obsolete  idea.  It  was  behind  the  age.  In  the  long, 
fatal  flow  of  that  stream  of  development  and  necessity,  which 
they  say  represents  the  history  of  man,  the  hour  was  reached 
in  which  it  was  fit  that  one  despotic  will  and  one  standing 
army  should  rule  the  world.  Tiiat  hour,  they  tell  you,  Cicero 
ought  to  have  recognized  ;  that  will  he  ought  piously  to  have 
hailed  in  the  person  of  Cwsar,  and  the  person  of  Ant(my. 
And  so  he  mistook  the  time ;  and  died  contending  vainly  and 
ungracefully  with  destiny,  and  built  his  monument  on  sands 
over  which,  he  should  have  seen,  the  tide  of  the  ages  was  ris- 
ing already. 

But  is  not  such  a  theory  as  this,  in  such  an  application  of 
personal  disparagement  as  this,  about  as  poor,  shallow,  heart- 
less, and  arrogant  a  pedantry  as  any  in  the  whole  history  of 
the  folHes  of  learning]  This  judgment  of  a  man's  actions, 
soul,  genius,  prudence,  by  the  light  of  events  that  reveal  them- 
selves five  hundred  or  one  hundred  years  after  he  is  in  his 
grave — how  long  has  that  been  thought  just?  Because  now 
we  are  able  to  see  that  the  struggle  of  liberty  against  mailed 
despotism,  —  of  the  senate  and  people  of  Rome  against  the 
spirit  of  Ctesar  in  arms,  say  rather  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
was  unavailing,  —  shall  we  pronounce  in  our  closets,  that  a 
patriot-senator,  a  man,  made  consul  from  tlie  ])eople  according 
to  the  constitution,  bred  in  the  traditions,  bathed  in  the  spirit, 
proud  of  that  high,  Roman  fashion,  of  freedom,  was  a  child  not 
to  have  foreseen  it  as  well  1  Because  he  ought  to  have  foreseen 
it,  and  did  so,  was  it,  therefore,  not  nobler  to  die  for  liberty 
than  to  survive  her  ?  Is  success  all  at  once  to  stand  for  the 
test  of  the  excellency  of  dignity,  and  the  excellency  of  honor  ? 
Be  it,  that  to  an  intelligence  that  can  take  in  the  ages  of  time 
and  eternity  and  the  greatest  good  of  a  universe  of  being, 
the  republic  might  seem  to  have  fulfilled  its  office,  and  that 
it  was  better  the  empire  should  take  its  place,  as  the  seed 
cannot  quicken  except  it  die ;  does  it  follow  that  we  are  to  love 
and  honor  the  unconscious  human  instruments  of  the  dread 
change  more  than  those  who  courageously  withstood  it,  —  Ju- 
lius Caesar,  the  atheist  and  traitor ;   Augustus,  the  hypocrite ; 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS.      45*^ 

Antony,  the  bloody  and  luxurious,  who  conquered  the  constitu- 
tion, —  better  than  Cato  or  Catullus,  or  Brutus  or  Cicero,  who 
stood  round  it  in  its  last  gasp  1  Because  offences  must  come, 
shall  not  the  moral  judgments  of  men  denounce  the  woe  against 
him  by  whom  they  come?  Easy  is  it,  and  tempting  for  the 
Merivales  and  Congreves  (I  am  sorry  to  see  De  Quincey  in 
such  company)  to  say  the  senate  and  people  of  Rome  were 
unfit  to  rule  the  world  they  had  overrun  ;  and,  therefore,  it 
was  needful  for  an  emperor  and  his  guard  and  his  legions  to 
step  in ;  easy  and  tempting  is  such  a  speculation,  because 
nobody  can  disprove  it,  and  it  sounds  of  philosopliy,  seems  to 
be  new.  But  when  they  pursue  it  so  far  as  to  see  no  grandeur 
in  the  struggle  of  free-will  with  circumstance,  and  of  virtue 
and  conscience  with  force,  and  feel  no  sympathy  with  the  resist- 
ance which  patriotism  desperately  attempts  against  treason,  I 
reject  and  hoot  it  incredulously. 

How  soothing  and  elevating  to  turn  from  such  philosophy, 
falsely  so  called,  to  the  grand  and  stirring  music  of  that  elo- 
quence —  those  last  fourteen  pleadings  of  Cicero,  which  he 
who  has  not  studied  knows  nothing  of  the  orator,  nothing  of 
the  patriot  —  in  which  the  Roman  liberty  breathed  its  last. 
From  that  purer  eloquence,  from  tliat  nobler  orator,  the  great 
trial  of  fire  and  blood  through  which  the  sj)irit  of  Rome 
was  passing  had  burned  and  purged  away  all  things  light,  all 
things  gross ;  the  purple  robe,  the  superb  attitude  and  ac- 
tion, the  splendid  commonplaces  of  a  festal  rhetoric,  are  all 
laid  by ;  the  ungraceful,  occasional  vanity  of  adulation,  the 
elaborate  speech  of  the  abundant,  happy  mind,  at  its  ease,  all 
disappear ;  and  instead,  what  directness,  what  plainness,  what 
rapidity,  what  fire,  what  abnegation  of  himself,  what  disdain, 
what  hate  of  the  usurper  and  the  usurpation,  what  grand, 
swelling  sentiments,  what  fine  raptures  of  liberty,  roll  and 
revel  there.  How  there  rise  above  and  from  out  that  im- 
petuous torrent  of  speech,  rushing  fervidly,  audibly,  dis- 
tinctly, between  the  peals  of  that  thunder  with  which,  like 
a  guardian  divinity,  he  seems  to  keep  the  senate-house,  and 
the  forum  where  the  people  assembled,  unprofaned  by  the 
impending  tyranny,  —  how  there  rise,  here  and  there,  those 
tones,  so  sweet,  so  mournful,  boding  and  prophetic  of  the 
end.     Almost  you  expect,  —  when  the  sublime  expostulation 

VOL.  I.  39 


458  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

is  ended,  and  the  fathers  of  the  repubhc  rise  all  together 
from  their  seats  to  answer  the  appeal  by  a  shout  in  the 
spirit  of  the  time  of  Tarquin  the  Proud,  and  the  Second 
Punic  War,  and  the  ten  thousand  voices  of  the  multitude 
are  calling  the  orator  to  come  out  from  the  senate-house 
and  speak  to  them  in  the  forum,  out  of  doors,  to  them,  also, 
of  the  perils  and  the  chances  of  their  freedom,  —  almost 
you  expect  to  hear,  in  the  air,  as  above  the  temple  of  the 
doomed  Jerusalem,  the  awful,  distant  cry.  Let  us  go  hence ! 
let  us  go  hence  !  The  alternative  of  his  own  certain  death,  if 
the  republic  fell  resisting  —  what  pathos,  what  dignity,  what 
sincerity,  what  merit  intrinsical,  it  gives  to  his  brave  counsels 
of  resistance  ! 

"  Lay  hold  on  this  opportunity  of  our  salvation.  Conscript 
Fathers,  —  by  the  Immortal  Gods  I  conjure  you  !  —  and 
remember  that  you  are  the  foremost  men  here,  in  the  coun- 
cil chamber  of  the  whole  earth.  Give  one  sign  to  the  Ro- 
man people  that  even  as  now  they  pledge  their  valor  —  so 
you  pledge  your  wisdom  to  the  crisis  of  the  State.  But  what 
need  that  I  exhort  you  ]  Is  there  one  so  insensate  as  not  to 
understand  that  if  we  sleep  over  an  occasion  such  as  this, 
it  is  ours  to  bow  our  necks  to  a  tyranny  not  proud  and  cruel 
only,  but  ignominious  —  but  sinful  ?  Do  ye  not  know  this 
Antony  1  Do  ye  not  know  his  companions  ]  Do  ye  not 
know  his  whole  house  —  insolent  —  impure  —  gamesters  — 
drunkards  ?  To  be  slaves  to  such  as  he,  to  such  as  these, 
were  it  not  the  fullest  measure  of  misery,  conjoined  with  the 
fullest  measure  of  disgrace  ?  If  it  be  so  —  may  the  gods 
avert  the  omen  —  that  the  supreme  hour  of  the  republic  has 
come,  let  us,  the  rulers  of  the  world,  rather  fall  with  honor, 
than  serve  with  infamy  !  Born  to  glory  and  to  liberty,  let  us 
hold  these  bright  distinctions  fast,  or  let  us  greatly  die  !  Be 
it,  Romans,  our  first  resolve  to  strike  down  the  tyrant  and  the 
tyranny.  Be  it  our  second  to  endure  all  things  for  the  honor 
and  liberty  of  our  country.  To  submit  to  infamy  for  the  love 
of  life  can  never  come  within  the  contemplation  of  a  Roman 
soul !  For  you,  the  people  of  Rome  —  you  whom  the  gods 
have  appointed  to  rule  the  world  —  for  you  to  own  a  master, 
is  impious. 

"  You  are  in  the  last  crisis  of  nations.     To  be  free  or  to 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS.      459 

be  slaves  —  that  is  the  question  of  the  hour.  By  every  ob- 
Hgation  of  man  or  States  it  behooves  you  in  this  extremity  to 
conquer  —  as  your  devotion  to  the  Gods  and  your  concord 
among  yourselves  encourage  you  to  hope  —  or  to  bear  all 
things  but  slavery.  Other  nations  may  bend  to  servitude  ; 
the  birthright  and  the  distinction  of  the  people  of  Rome  is 
liberty." 

Turn,  now,  to  another  form  of  revolution  altogether.  Turn 
to  a  revolution  in  which  a  people,  who  were  not  yet  a  nation, 
became  a  nation,  —  one  of  the  great,  creative  efforts  of  his- 
tory, her  rarest,  her  grandest,  one  of  her  marked  and  widely 
separated  geological  periods,  in  which  she  gathers  up  the  form- 
less and  wandering  elements  of  a  preexisting  nature,  and  shapes 
them  into  a  new  world,  over  whose  rising  the  morning  stars 
might  sing  again.  And  these  revolutions  have  an  eloquence 
of  their  own,  also ;  but  how  unlike  that  other,  —  exultant, 
trustftd,  reasonable,  courageous.  The  cheerful  and  confident 
voice  of  young,  giant  strength  rings  through  it,  —  the  silver 
clarion  of  his  hope  that  sounds  to  an  awakening,  to  an  onset, 
to  a  festival  of  glory,  preparing  !  preparing  !  —  his  look  of 
fire  now  fixed  on  the  ground,  now  straining  towards  the  dis- 
tant goal ;  his  heart  assured  and  high,  yet  throbbing  with  the 
heightened,  irregular  pulsations  of  a  new  consciousness,  beat- 
ing unwontedly,  —  the  first,  delicious,  strange  feeling  of  na- 
tional life. 

Twice  within  a  century  men  have  heard  that  eloquence. 
They  heard  it  once  when,  in  IJSQ,  Ireland,  in  arms,  had  ex- 
torted —  in  part  from  the  humiliation  and  necessities  of  Eng- 
land, in  part  from  the  justice  of  a  new  administration  —  the 
independence  of  her  parliament  and  her  judiciary, 

"  That  one  lucid  interval  snatched  from  the  gloom 

And  the  madness  of  afjes,  when  filled  with  one  soul, 
A  nation  o'erleaped  the  dark  bounds  of  her  doom, 
And  for  one  sacred  instant  touched  liberty's  goal,"  — 

and  Mr.  Grattan,  rising  slowly  in  her  house  of  commons, 
said :  "I  am  now  to  address  a  free  people  ;  ages  have  passed 
away,  and  this  is  the  first  moment  in  which  you  could  be  dis- 
tinguished by  that  appellation.  I  found  Ireland  on  her  knees ; 
I  watched  over  her  with  an  eternal  solicitude.  I  have  traced 
her   progress   from   injuries   to   arms,  from   arms   to   liberty. 


460  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

Spirit  of  Swift,  spirit  of  Molyneux,  your  g-enius  has  prevailed! 
Ireland  is  now  a  nation.  In  that  character,  I  hail  her;  and, 
bowing"  to  her  august  presence,  I  say,  Live  Forever !  " 

Men  heard  that  eloquence  in  177^5  i"  that  manifold  and 
mighty  appeal  by  the  genius  and  wisdom  of  that  new  America, 
to  persuade  the  people  to  take  on  the  name  of  nation,  and  be- 
gin its  life.  By  how  many  pens  and  tongues  that  great  plead- 
ing" was  conducted ;  through  how  many  months,  before  the  date 
of  the  actual  Declaration,  it  went  on,  day  after  day ;  in  how 
many  forms,  before  how  many  assemblies,  from  the  village 
newspaper,  the  more  careful  pamphlet,  the  private  conversation, 
the  town-meeting,  the  legislative  bodies  of  particular  colonies, 
up  to  the  Hall  of  the  immortal  old  Congress,  and  the  master 
intelligences  of  lion  heart  and  eagle  eye,  that  ennobled  it, —  all 
this  you  know.  But  the  leader  in  that  great  argument  was 
John  Adams,  of  Massachusetts.  He,  by  concession  of  all  men, 
was  the  orator  of  that  revolution,  —  the  revolution  in  which  a 
nation  was  born.  Other  and  renowned  names,  by  written  or 
spoken  eloquence,  cooperated  effectively,  splendidly,  to  the  grand 
result,  —  Samuel  Adams,  Samuel  Chase,  Jeftierson,  Henry, 
James  Otis  in  an  earlier  stage.  Each  of  these,  and  a  hun- 
dred more,  within  circles  of  influence  wider  or  narrower,  sent 
forth,  scattering  broadcast,  the  seed  of  life  in  the  ready,  vir- 
gin soil.  Each  brought  some  specialty  of  gift  to  the  work  ; 
Jefferson,  the  magic  of  style,  and  the  habit  and  the  power  of 
delicious  dalliance  with  those  large,  fair  ideas  of  freedom  and 
equality,  so  dear  to  man,  so  irresistible  in  that  day;  Henry, 
the  indescribable  and  lost  spell  of  the  speech  of  the  emotions, 
which  fills  the  eye,  chills  the  blood,  turns  the  cheek  pale, — 
the  lyric  phase  of  eloquence,  the  "fire-water,"  as  Lamartine  has 
said,  of  the  revolution,  instilling  into  the  sense  and  the  soul  the 
sweet  madness  of  battle;  Samuel  Chase,  the  tones  of  anger,  con- 
fidence, and  pride,  and  the  art  to  inspire  them.  John  Adams's 
eloquence  alone  seemed  to  have  met  every  demand  of  the  time  ; 
as  a  question  of  right,  as  a  question  of  prudence,  as  a  question 
of  immediate  opportunity,  as  a  question  of  feeling,  as  a  ques- 
tion of  conscience,  as  a  question  of  historical  and  durable  and 
innocent  glory,  he  knew  it  all,  through  and  through  ;  and  in 
that  mighty  debate,  which,  beginning  in  Congress  as  far  back 
as  March  or  February,  177^?  had  its  close  on  the  second  and 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS.     461 

on  the  fourth  of  July,  he  presented  it  in  all  its  aspects,  to  every 
passion  and  affection,  —  to  the  burning  sense  of  wrong,  exas- 
perated at  length  beyond  control  by  the  shedding  of  blood ;  to 
grief,  anger,  self-respect;  to  the  desire  of  happiness  and  of 
safety;  to  the  sense  of  moral  obligation,  commanding  that  the 
duties  of  life  are  more  than  life;  to  courage,  which  fears  God, 
and  knows  no  other  fear ;  to  the  craving  of  the  colonial  heart, 
of  all  hearts,  for  the  reality  and  the  ideal  of  country,  and 
which  cannot  be  filled  unless  the  dear  native  land  comes  to  be 
breathed  on  by  the  grace,  clad  in  the  robes,  armed  with  the 
thunders,  admitted  an  equal  to  the  assembly,  of  the  nations ;  to 
that  large  and  heroical  ambition  which  would  build  States,  that 
imperial  philanthropy  which  would  open  to  liberty  an  asylum 
here,  and  give  to  the  sick  heart,  hard  fare,  fettered  conscience 
of  the  children  of  the  Old  World,  healing,  plenty,  and  free- 
dom to  worship  God,  —  to  these  passions,  and  these  ideas,  he 
presented  the  appeal  for  months,  day  after  day,  until,  on  the 
third  of  July,  177^?  he  could  record  the  result,  writing  thus 
to  his  wife :  "  Yesterday  the  greatest  question  was  decided 
which  ever  was  debated  in  America ;  and  a  greater,  perhaps, 
never  was,  nor  will  be,  among  men." 

Of  that  series  of  spoken  eloquence  all  is  perished ;  not  one 
reported  sentence  has  come  down  to  us.  The  voice  through 
which  the  rising  spirit  of  a  young  nation  sounded  out  its  dream 
of  life  is  hushed.  The  great  spokesman,  of  an  age  unto  an 
age,  is  dead. 

And  yet,  of  those  lost  words  is  not  our  whole  America  one 
immortal  record  and  reporter  I  Do  ye  not  read  them,  deep 
cut,  defying  the  tooth  of  time,  on  all  the  marble  of  our  great- 
ness ?  How  they  blaze  on  the  pillars  of  our  Union  !  How  is 
their  deep  sense  unfolded  and  interpreted  by  every  passing 
hour !  how  do  they  come  to  life,  and  grow  audible,  as  it  were, 
in  the  brightening  rays  of  the  light  he  foresaw,  as  the  fabled 
invisible  harp  gave  out  its  music  to  the  morning ! 

Yes,  in  one  sense,  they  are  perished.  No  parchment  manu- 
script, no  embalming  printed  page,  no  certain  traditions  of 
living  or  dead,  have  kept  them.  Yet,  from  out,  and  from  off, 
all  things  around  us,  —  our  laughing  harvests,  our  songs  of 
labor,  our  commerce  on  all  the  seas,  our  secure  homes,  our 
school-houses  and  churches,  our  happy  people,  our  radiant  and 

39* 


462  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

stainless  flag",  —  how  they  come  peahiig,  peaHng,  Independence 
now,  and  Independence  forever  ! 

And  now,  on  a  review  of  this  series  of  the  most  eloquent 
of  the  eloquent,  and  of  these  opportunities  of  their  renown, 
does  our  love  deceive  us,  or  have  we  not  ourselves  seen  and 
heard,  and  followed  mourning-  to  the  grave,  one  man,  who, 
called  to  act  in  a  time  so  troubled  and  high,  would  have  enacted 
a  part  of  equal  splendor,  and  won  a  fame  as  historical  ]  Our 
Webster  —  was  there  ever  yet  a  cause  to  be  pleaded  to  an 
assembly  of  men  on  earth  to  which  he  would  not  have  ap- 
proved himself  equal  ?  Consider  that  he  was  cast  on  a  quiet, 
civil  age,  an  age,  a  land,  of  order,  of  law,  of  contentment,  of 
art,  of  progress  by  natural  growth,  of  beautiful  and  healthful 
material  prosperity,  resting  on  an  achieved  and  stable  freedom. 
We  saw  that  ocean  only  in  its  calm.  But  what  if  the  stern 
north-east  had  blown  on  that  ocean,  or  the  hurricane  of  the 
tropics  had  vexed  its  unsounded  depths  ]  That  mighty  reason, 
that  sovereign  brow  and  eye,  that  majestic  port,  that  fountain 
of  eloquent  feeling,  of  passion,  of  imagination,  —  which  seems 
to  me  to  have  been  in  him  never  completely  opened,  fathom- 
less as  a  sea,  and  like  that  demanding  the  breaking  up  of  the 
monsoon,  or  the  attraction  of  those  vast  bodies  the  lights  of 
the  world,  to  give  it  to  flow,  rise,  and  ebb,  —  what  triumph  of 
eloquence  the  ages  ever  witnessed  was  beyond  those  marvel- 
lous faculties,  in  their  utmost  excitement,  to  achieve  1 

Assisted  by  that  unequalled  organ  of  speech,  the  Greek 
language  of  Demosthenes,  might  he  not  have  rolled  an  equal 
thunder,  and  darted  an  equal  flame  ?  —  might  he  not  have 
breathed  virtue  into  the  decay  of  Greece,  and  turned  back  for 
a  space  the  inevitable  hour  ] 

The  shaken  pillars  of  the  old  constitution  of  Roman  liberty, 
the  old  grand  traditions  dishonored,  the  dignity  of  the  senate, 
the  privilege  of  the  people  assailed,  —  would  not  their  last 
great  champion  have  acknowledged  in  him  an  ally  worthy  of 
the  glorious,  falling  cause  ? 

And  when  the  transcendent  question  of  our  Independence 
was  to  be  debated,  was  he  not  the  very  man  to  stand  by 
Adams,  and  second  the  motion  which  has  made  the  illustrious 
mover  immortal?  The  rights  of  the  colonies  in  point  of  law 
on  their  charters;    the  violations  of  these  rights;    the  larger 


THE  ELOQUENCE  OF  REVOLUTIONARY  PERIODS.      463 

rights  of  .man,  —  the  right  to  Hberty  and  the  pursuit  of  hap- 
piness ;  the  right  —  the  conditions,  the  occasions,  of  tlie  right 
—  to  the  national  Hfe,  —  would  not  he,  too,  have  set  these  to 
view  transparent,  exact,  clear  as  a  sunbeam  ]  When  reason 
has  convinced,  and  conscience  has  instructed,  would  not  that 
hand,  too,  have  swept  with  as  all-commanding  power  the 
chords  of  the  greater  passions,  —  grief,  indignation,  pride, 
hope,  self-sacrifice,  —  whose  music  is  at  once  the  inspirer  and 
the  utterance  of  the  sublimest  moments  of  history,  through 
which  the  first  voices  of  the  sense  and  the  love  of  country  are 
breathed  ? 

And  then,  as  the  vision  of  independent  America  gleamed 
through  the  future,  would  he  not  already,  with  a  soul  as  trust- 
ful, a  trumpet-tone  as  confident,  a  voice  of  prophecy  as  sure  as 
on  that  later,  festal  day,  from  the  Rock  of  the  Pilgrims,  bid  the 
distant  generations  hail  ]  And  yet,  in  that  want  of  grandest 
opportunities  for  the  effort  of  his  powers,  had  he  large  com- 
pensation, happier,  nor  less  glorious,  when  he  rose  and  shone 
and  set  on  that  unclouded  sky,  and  on  that  wide,  deep  calm  of 
moral  nature,  than  in  soaring,  as  he  would  have  soared,  on 
all  its  storms,  and  wielding,  as  he  would  have  wielded,  all  its 
thunders. 


ADDRESS 


DELIVERED  IN  SOUTH    DANVERS,    AT    THE    DEDICATION    OP    THE    PEABODY    INSTI- 
TUTE, SEPTEMBER   29,  1854. 


I  ESTEEM  it  a  great  privilege  to  have  been  allowed  to  unite 
with  my  former  townsmen,  and  the  friends  of  so  many  years, 
—  by  whose  seasonable  kindness  the  earliest  struggles  of  my 
professional  life  were  observed  and  helped, — the  friends  of  all 
its  periods,  —  so  I  have  found  them,  —  to  unite  with  you  in 
the  transaction  for  which  we  are  assembled.  In  all  respects 
it  is  one  of  rare  interest.  You  have  come  together  to  express 
anew  your  appreciation  of  the  character  and  the  objects  of  the 
giver  of  this  splendid  charity,  to  repeat  and  republish  your 
grateful  acceptance  of  it,  and  to  dedicate  this  commodious 
and  beautiful  structure  to  its  faithful  and  permanent  adminis- 
tration. You  open  to-day  for  Danvers,  —  its  inhabitants  of 
this  time,  and  all  its  successions,  —  the  Lyceum  of  knowledge 
and  morality.  Under  this  dedication  it  shall  stand  while  Mas- 
sachusetts shall  stand.  This  edifice  will  crumble,  certainly,  to 
be  replaced  with  another  ;  this  generation  of  the  first  recipients 
of  the  gift,  —  the  excellent  giver  himself,  —  will  soon  pass 
away ;  but  while  our  social  and  civil  system  shall  endure ; 
while  law  shall  be  administered ;  while  the  sentiments  of  jus- 
tice, gratitude,  and  honor,  shall  beat  in  one  heart  on  your  ter- 
ritory, the  charity  is  immortal. 

For  every  one  among  you  it  is  set  open  equally.  No  fear 
that  the  religious  opinions  he  holds  sacred  will  be  assailed,  or 
the  politics  he  cultivates  insulted,  will  keep  back  any  from  his 
share  of  the  diffusive  good.  Other  places  and  other  occasions 
you  reserve  for  dissent  and  disputation,  and  struggle  for  mas- 
tery, and  the  sharp  competitions  of  life.  But  here  shall  be 
peace  and  reconciliation.     Within  these  walls,  the  knowledge 


DEDICATION   OF   THE   PEABODY  INSTITUTE.         4,55 

and  the  morality,  which  are  of  no  creed  and  no  party ;  which 
are  graceful  and  profitable  for  all  alike,  —  of  every  creed  and 
every  party ;  which  are  true  and  real  to  every  mind,  as  mind, 
and  from  the  nature  of  mind, — and  to  every  conscience,  as  con- 
science, and  from  the  nature  of  conscience ;  and  which  are  the 
same  thing-,  therefore,  in  every  brain  and  every  lieart,  —  this 
alone,  —  knowledge  and  morality,  broad,  free,  as  humanity  it- 
self. —  is  to  be  inculcated  here. 

Happy  and  privileged  the  community,  beyond  the  measure 
of  New  England  privilege  even,  for  whom  such  high  educa- 
tional instrumentalities  are  thus  munificently  provided,  and 
made  perpetual  !  Happy  especially,  if  they  shall  rouse  them- 
selves to  improve  them  to  their  utmost  capacity,  —  if  they 
shall  feel  that  they  are  summoned  by  a  new  motive,  and  by  an 
obligation  unfelt  before,  to  an  unaccustomed  effort  to  appro- 
priate to  their  hearts  and  their  reason,  all  the  countless  good 
which  is  hidden  in  knowledge  and  a  right  life,  —  an  eftbrt  to 
become  —  more  than  before  —  wise,  bright,  thoughtful,  in- 
genious, good  ;  to  attain  to  the  highest  degree  of  learning 
which  is  compatible  with  the  practical  system  of  things  of 
which  they  are  part ;  to  feed  the  immortal,  spiritual  nature 
with  an  ampler  and  higher  nutrition,  enriching  memory  with 
new  facts,  judgment  with  sounder  thoughts,  taste  with  more 
beautiful  images,  the  moral  sense  with  more  of  all  things 
whatsoever  they  are  lovely,  honest,  and  of  good  report,  —  the 
reality  of  virtue,  the  desert  of  praise. 

Happy,  almost,  above  all,  the  noble  giver,  whose  heart  is 
large  enough  to  pay,  of  the  abundance  which  crowns  his  life, 
—  to  pay  out  of  his  single  means,  —  the  whole  debt  this  gen- 
eration owes  the  future.  I  honor  and  love  him,  not  merely 
that  his  energy,  sense,  and  integrity  have  raised  him  from  a 
poor  boy  —  waiting  in  that  shop  yonder  —  to  spread  a  table 
for  the  entertainment  of  princes,  —  not  merely  because  the 
brilliant  professional  career  which  has  given  him  a  position 
so  commanding  in  the  mercantile  and  social  circles  of  the 
commercial  capital  of  the  world,  has  left  him  as  completely 
American  —  the  heart  as  wholly  untravelled  —  as  when  he 
first  stepped  on  the  shore  of  England  to  seek  his  fortune, 
sighing  to  think  that  the  ocean  rolled  between  him  and  home ; 
jealous  of  honor  ;  wakeful  to  our  interests ;  helping  his  coun- 


466  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

try,  not  by  swagger  and  vulgarity,  but  by  recommending  her 
credit ;  vindicating  her  title  to  be  trusted  on  the  exchange  of 
nations;  squandering  himself  in  hospitalities  to  her  citizens  — 
a  man  of  deeds,  not  of  words,  —  not  for  these  merely  I  love 
and  honor  him,  but  because  his  nature  is  affectionate  and  unso- 
phisticated still ;  because  his  memory  comes  over  so  lovingly 
to  this  sweet  Argos,  to  the  schoolroom  of  his  childhood,  to 
the  old  shop  and  kind  master,  and  the  graves  of  his  father  and 
mother ;  and  because  he  has  had  the  sagacity,  and  the  charac- 
ter to  indulge  these  unextinguished  affections  in  a  gift,  not  of 
vanity  and  ostentation,  but  of  supreme  and  durable  utility. 

I  have  found  it  quite  incompatible  with  my  engagements 
and  health,  to  methodize  the  thoughts,  which  have  crowded  on 
my  mind  in  the  prospect  of  meeting  you  to-day,  into  anything 
like  elaborate  or  extended  discourse ;  but  I  have  certainly 
wished,  —  instead  of  mere  topics  of  congratulation  ;  or  in- 
stead of  diffusing  myself  exclusively  on  the  easy  and  obvious 
commonplaces  of  the  utility  of  knowledge,  and  the  beauty  of 
virtue ;  or  instead  of  the  mere  indulgence  of  those  trains  of 
memory  and  sensibility,  to  which  the  spectacle  of  old  friends, 
and  of  the  children  and  grandchildren  of  other  friends,  "whom 
my  dim  eyes  in  vain  explore,"  almost  irrepressively  impels  me, 
—  instead  of  this,  to  submit  a  practical  suggestion  or  two  in 
regard  to  the  true  modes  of  turning  the  Lyceum  to  its  utmost 
account ;  and  then,  in  regard  to  the  motives  you  are  under  to 
do  so.  These  suggestions  I  make  diffidently;  and,  therefore, 
I  would  not  make  them  at  all,  but  from  the  conviction  that  in 
your  hands  they  may  come  to  assume  some  little  value. 

I  take  it  for  granted  that  the  declared  wishes  of  Mr.  Pea- 
body  will  be  considered  as  determining,  quite  peremptorily,  the 
general  mode  of  administering  this  fund.  Better  educational 
instrumentalities,  indeed,  no  man's  wisdom,  in  the  circum- 
stances, could  have  devised.  Courses  of  lectures,  then,  and 
a  library  of  good  books,  these  are  to  form  the  means  of  the 
Lyceum  ;  and  the  problem  is,  in  what  way  can  you  make  the 
most  of  them. 

It  may  seem  a  little  exaggerated  at  its  first  statement,  and 
perhaps  alarming,  but  it  will  serve  at  least  to  introduce  my 
more  particular  ideas,  to  say  that  the  true  view  for  you  to  take 
of  this  larc/e  'provision  of  mental  tneans,  and  of  your  relations 


DEDICATION   OF  THE   PEABODY  INSTITUTE.         46'^ 

to  it,  is  to  regard  yourselves  as  having  hecome  hj  its  lestovj- 
ment  permanently  the  members  of  an  institution  vjliich  under- 
takes to  teach  you  hy  lectures  and  a  library.  Herein  exactly 
is  the  peculiarity  of  your  new  privilege.  You  are  no  longer, 
as  heretofore  it  has  been  with  you,  merely  to  be  indulged  the 
opportunity  of  a  few  evenings  in  a  year  to  listen,  for  the 
amusement  of  it,  to  half  a  dozen  discourses  of  as  many  dif- 
ferent speakers,  on  as  many  totally  disconnected  topics,  treated 
possibly  for  ostentation,  and  adapted  only  to  entertain,  —  but, 
however  treated,  and  whatever  fit  for,  totally  forgotten  in  an 
hour ,  preceded,  followed  up,  and  assisted,  by  no  preparation 
and  no  effort  of  t)ie  hearer ;  giving  no  direction  whatever  to 
his  thoughts  or  readings ;  separated  from  each  other,  even 
while  the  lyceum  season  lasts,  by  a  week  of  labor,  devoted, 
even  in  its  leisure  moments,  to  trains  of  thoui^ht  or  snatches 
of  reading  wholly  unauxiliar  and  irrelative,  and  for  nine  months 
or  ten  months  of  the  year  totally  discontinued.  Thanks  to  this 
munificence,  you  are  come  to  the  fruition  of  far  other  opportu- 
nities. An  institution  of  learning,  in  the  justest  sense  of  the 
term,  is  provided  for  you.  Lectures  are  to  be  delivered  for 
you  through  a  far  larger  portion  of  the  year ;  a  library,  which 
will  assuredly  swell  to  thousands  of  volumes,  is  to  be  accumu- 
lated under  your  eye,  from  which  you  may  derive  the  means 
of  accompanying  any  lecturer  on  any  subject  from  evening  to 
evening;  and  this  system  of  provision  is  permanent,  —  hence- 
forth part  and  parcel,  through  its  corporate  existence,  of  the 
civil  identity  and  privilege  of  Danvers.  You  enter,  therefore, 
to-day  —  you  may  enter  —  a  new  and  important  school ;  as 
durably  such,  as  truly  such,  • —  having  regard  to  differences  of 
circumstantial  details,  —  as  the  Seminary  at  Andover,  or  the 
Law  School  at  Cambridge,  or  the  College  of  Medicine  at 
Philadelphia,  —  all  of  them  schools,  too,  and  all  teaching  by 
lectures  and  a  library. 

Setting  out  with  this  idea,  let  me  say  a  word  on  the  lectures 
of  this  school,  —  what  they  should  be,  and  how  they  should  be 
heard,  assisted,  and  turned  to  account  by  those  who  hear  them. 
And  I  submit  to  the  trustees  of  the  charity  to  reflect,  whether 
a  succession  of  such  discourses  as  I  have  indicated,  on  discon- 
nected topics,  by  different  speakers,  —  however  brilliant  and 
able  the  individual  performer  may  be,  —  will,  in  the  long  run, 


468  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

yield  the  g'ood,  or  any  approximation  to  the  good,  which  would 
be  derived  from  courses  of  lectures  more  or  less  extended,  like 
the  Lowell  Lectures  of  Boston,  each  by  a  single  person,  de- 
voted to  the  more  exact  and  thorough  treatment  of  a  single 
important  subject. 

Consider  that  the  diffusion  of  knowledge  among  you  is  the 
aim  of  the  founder.  The  imparting  of  knowledge  is  the  task 
which  he  sets  his  lecturer  to  do ;  and  of  knowledge  in  any 
proper  sense,  —  knowledge  within  the  legal  meaning  of  this 
charity, — how  much  can  he  impart  who  comes  once  in  a  year, 
once  in  a  lifetime,  perhaps,  before  his  audience,  a  stranger,  ad- 
dresses it  an  hour,  and  goes  his  way]  He  can  teach  little,  if 
he  tries ;  and  the  chances  are  infinite,  that  to  teach  that  little 
he  will  not  try.  The  temptations  and  the  tendencies  of  that 
system  of  exhibition  are  irresistible,  to  make  him  despair  of 
conveying  knowledge,  and  devote  himself  to  producing  effect; 
to  select  some  topic  mainly  of  emotional  or  imaginative  capa- 
bility ;  and  even  then  to  sacrifice  the  beauty  which  is  in  truth, 
to  the  counterfeit  presentment  which  mocks  it  in  glitter,  exag- 
geration, ingenuity,  and  intensity.  If  he  would  spend  his  hour 
in  picking  up  and  explaining  a  shell  or  pebble  from  the  shore 
of  the  ocean  of  knowledge,  it  were  something ;  but  that  seems 
unworthy  of  himself,  and  of  the  expectations  which  await  him, 
and  up  he  soars,  or  down  he  sinks,  to  rhetoric  or  bathos;  and 
when  his  little  part  is  best  discharged,  it  is  not  much  more 
than  the  lovely  song  of  one  who  hath  a  pleasant  voice,  and 
can  play  well  upon  an  instrument. 

I  do  not  say  that  such  lectures  are  hurtful.  I  do  not  deny~ 
them  a  certain  capacity  of  usefulness.  I  do  not  say  they  are 
not  all  which  you  should  look  for  in  our  lyceums,  as  ordinarily 
they  are  constituted.  They  are  all  which,  for  the  present,  you 
will  yourselves,  perhaps,  be  able  to  provide.  But  to  an  en- 
dowed and  durable  foundation  like  this,  they  are  totally  inap- 
plicable. They  would  be  no  more  nor  less,  after  you  shall  be 
completely  organized,  than  a  gross  abuse  of  the  charity,  and ' 
violation  of  the  will,  of  the  giver.  It  is  not  merely  that  they 
would  teach  no  knowledge,  and  would  not  assume  to  do  it,  and 
that  the  nature  and  laws  of  that  kind  of  composition,  and  the 
conditions  of  its  existence,  totally  exclude  such  a  function.  It 
goes  further  than    that.     The  relations  between  teacher  and 


DEDICATION   OF   THE   PEABODY  INSTITUTE.         469 

pupil,  under  such  a  system,  never  exist  at  all.  The  audience 
never  think  of  coming  before  the  lecturer  to  have  the  truths 
of  the  last  lecture  retouched,  and  new  ones  deduced  or  added ; 
to  have  the  difficulties,  of  which  they  have  been  thinking-  since 
they  heard  him  before,  resolved ;  to  ask  questions ;  to  be  ad- 
vised what  authors  to  read,  or  what  experiments  to  undertake, 
on  the  subject  he  is  illustrating.  They  carry  no  part  of  his 
sermon  into  the  week  with  them  ;  and  he  never  knows  or  asks 
whether  they  do  or  not.  In  the  nature  of  things,  this  all  must 
be  so.  It  is  of  the  essential  conception  of  knowledge,  as  the 
founder  here  uses  the  word,  —  knowledge  as  applicable  to 
anything,  —  that  it  includes  many  particulars  of  fact  or  idea, 
arranged  by  method,  that  is,  arranged  according  to  their  true 
relations. 

Whatever  it  be  on  which  knowledge  is  to  be  imparted, — 
whether  one  of  the  phenomena  of  nature,  as  vegetable  life,  or 
insensible  motion,  or  the  periods  of  the  stars ;  or  some  great 
aspect  of  humanity,  as  the  history  of  a  renowned  age  or  event, 
pregnant  of  a  stupendous  future,  or  a  marked  man  of  the 
heroic  and  representative  type  ;  or  one  of  the  glorious  pro- 
ductions of  mind,  as  a  constitution  of  free  government,  or  a 
union  of  states  into  one  nationality,  a  great  literature,  or  even 
a  great  poem,  —  whatever  it  be,  that  which  makes  up  the  con- 
summate knowledge  of  it  is  at  once  so  much  a  unity  and  an 
infinity,  —  it  unfolds  itself  into  so  many  particulars,  one  de- 
duced from  another  by  series  ever  progressive,  one  modify- 
ing another,  every  one  requiring  to  be  known  in  order  that 
any  one  may  be  exactly  known,  —  that  if  you  mean  to  teach 
it  by  lectures  at  all,  you  must  substitute  a  totally  different  sys- 
tem. It  must  he  done  hy  courses  continuously  delivered^  and 
frequenthj ^  hy  the  same  person^  and  having  for  their  object  to 
achieve  the  exact  and  exhaustive  treatment  of  something,  — 
some  science,  some  art,  some  age,  some  transaction,  that 
changed  the  face  of  fortune  and  history,  —  something  worthy 
to  be  completely  known.  He  whom  you  call  to  labor  on  this 
foundation  must  understand  that  it  is  knowledge  which  is 
demanded  of  him.  He  must  assure  himself  that  he  is  to 
have  his  full  time  to  impart  it.  He  must  come  to  the  work, 
appreciating  that  he  is  not  to  be  judged  by  the  brilliancy  or 
dulness  of  one  passage,  or  one  evening  ;    but  that  he  must 

VOL.   I.  40 


470 


LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 


Stand  or  fall  by  the  mass  and  ag-gregate  of  his  teachings. 
He  is  to  feel  that  he  is  an  instructor,  not  the  player  of  a  part 
on  a  stage ;  that  he  is  to  teach  truth,  and  not  cut  a  rhetorical 
caper  ;  enthusiastic  in  the  pursuit,  exact  and  veracious  as  a 
witness  under  oath  in  the  announcement.  I  would  have  him 
able  to  say  of  the  subject  which  he  treats,  what  Cousin  said 
of  philosophy  in  the  commencement  of  one  of  his  celebrated 
courses,  after  a  long  interruption  by  the  instability  of  the  gov- 
ernment of  France  :  "  Devoted  entirely  to  it,  after  having 
had  the  honor  to  suffer  a  little  in  its  service,  I  come  to  con- 
secrate to  its  illustration,  unreservedly,  all  that  remains  to  me 
of  strength  and  of  life." 

And,  now,  how  are  you  to  hear  such  courses  of  lectures  % 
Essentially  by  placing  yourselves  in  the  relation  of  pupils  to  the 
lecturer.  For  the  whole  period  of  his  course,  let  the  subject  he 
teaches  compose  the  study  of  the  hours,  or  fragments  of  hours 
which  you  give  to  study  at  all.  You  would  read  something,  on 
some  topic,  every  day,  in  all  events.  Let  that  reading,  less  or 
more,  relate  exclusively  or  mainly  to  the  department  of  knowl- 
edge on  which  you  go  to  hear  him.  If  he  knows  his  business, 
he  will  recommend  all  the  best  books  pertaining  to  that  depart- 
ment, and  on  these  the  first  purchases  for  the  Library  will  be 
quite  likely  in  part  to  be  expended.  Attend  the  instructions  of 
his  lips  by  the  instruction  of  the  printed  treatise.  In  this  way 
only  can  you,  by  any  possibility,  avail  yourselves  at  once  of  all 
that  books  and  teachers  can  do.  In  this  way  only  can  you 
make  one  cooperate  with  the  other.  In  this  way  only  —  in  a 
larger  view  —  can  you  rationally  count  on  considerable  and 
ever-increasing  acquisitions  of  knowledge.  Remember  that 
your  opportunities  for  such  attainments  in  this  school,  after  all, 
are  to  be  few  and  brief  You  and  I  are  children  of  labor  at 
last.  The  practical,  importunate,  ever-recurring  duties  of  the 
calling'  to  which  we  are  assigned  must  have  our  best  of  life. 
What  are  your  vacations,  or  mine,  from  work,  for  the  still  air 
of  delightful  studies  I  They  are  only  divers  infinitely  minute 
particles  of  time,  —  half-hours  before  the  morning  or  midday 
meal  is  quite  ready,  —  days,  now  and  then,  not  sick  enough 
for  the  physician  nor  well  enough  for  work,  —  a  rainy  after- 
noon, —  the  priceless  evening,  when  the  long  task  is  done,  — 
these  snatches  and  interstitial  spaces  —  moments  literal  and 


DEDICATION   OF   THE   PEABODY   INSTITUTE.         4,yi 

fleet  —  these  are  all  the  chances  that  we  can  borrow  or  create 
for  the  luxury  of  learning-.  How  difficult  it  is  to  arrest 
these  moments,  to  aggregate  them,  to  till  them,  as  it  were, 
to  make  them  day  by  day  extend  our  knowledge,  refine  our 
tastes,  accomplish  our  whole  culture,  to  scatter  in  them  the 
seed  that  shall  grow  up,  as  Jeremy  Taylor  has  said,  "  to 
crowns  and  sceptres "  of  a  true  wisdom,  —  how  difficult  is 
this  we  all  appreciate.  To  turn  them  to  any  profit  at  all,  we 
must  religiously  methodize  them.  Desultory  reading  and 
desultory  revery  are  to  be  forever  abandoned.  A  page  in 
this  book,  and  another  in  that  —  ten  minutes  thought  or  con- 
versation on  this  subject,  and  the  next  ten  on  that  —  this  stren- 
uous and  specious  idleness  is  not  the  way  by  which  our  intervals 
of  labor  are  to  open  to  us  the  portals  of  the  crystal  palace  of 
truth.  Such  reading,  too,  and  such  thinking  are  an  indul- 
gence by  which  the  mind  loses  its  power  —  by  which  curiosity 
becomes  sated,  ennui  supervenes,  and  the  love  of  learning  itself 
is  irrevocably  lost.  Therefore,  I  say,  methodize  your  moments. 
Let  your  reading  be  systematic  ever,  so  that  every  interval 
of  rest  shall  have  its  book  provided  for  it ;  and  during  the 
courses  of  your  lectures,  let  those  books  treat  the  topics  of 
the  course. 

Let  me  illustrate  my  meaning.  You  are  attending,  I  will 
say,  a  course  on  astronomy,  consisting  of  two  lectures  in  a 
week,  for  two  months.  Why  should  you  not  regard  your- 
selves for  these  two  months  as  students  of  astronomy,  so  far  as 
you  can  study  anything,  or  think  of  anything,  outside  of  your 
business  ;  and  why  not  determine  to  know  nothing  else  ;  but 
to  know  as  much  of  that  as  you  can,  for  all  that  time  ^  Con- 
sider what  this  would  involve,  and  what  it  might  accomplish. 
Su))pose  that  you,  by  strenuous  and  persistent  effort,  hold 
that  one  subject  fully  in  view  for  so  long  a  period  ;  that  you 
do  your  utmost  to  turn  your  thoughts  and  conversation  on 
it ;  that  you  write  out  the  lecture,  from  notes  or  memory,  as 
soon  as  it  is  given,  and  reperuse  and  master  it  before  you  hear 
the  next ;  that  you  read,  not  on  other  parts  of  the  science,  but 
on  the  very  parts  which  the  lecturer  has  arrived  at  and  is  dis- 
cussing ;  that  you  devote  an  hour  each  evening  to  surveying 
the  architecture  of  the  heavens  for  yourselves,  seeking  to  learn, 
not  merely  to  indulge  a  vague  and  wandering  sort  of  curiosity, 


4,-7(2  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

or  even  a  grand,  but  indistinct  and  general  emotion,  as  if  lis- 
tening to  imaginary  music  of  spheres,  but  to  aspire  to  the 
science  of  the  stars,  to  fix  their  names,  to  group  them  in 
classes  and  constellations,  to  trace  their  paths,  their  reciprocal 
influence,  their  courses  everlasting,  —  suppose  that  thus,  and 
by  voluntary  continuous  exertion,  you  concentrate  on  one  great 
subject,  for  so  considerable  a  period,  all  the  moments  of  time 
and  snatches  of  hasty  reading  and  opportunities  of  thought 
that  otherwise  would  have  wasted  themselves  everywhere, 
and  gone  off"  by  insensible  evaporation,  —  do  you  not  believe 
that  it  would  tell  decisively  upon  your  mental  culture  and 
your  positive  attainments  ?  Would  not  the  effort  of  atten- 
tion so  prolonged  and  exclusive  be  a  discipline  itself  inesti- 
mable ?  Would  not  the  particulars  of  so  much  well-system- 
atized reading  and  thought  arrange  themselves  in  your  minds 
in  the  form  of  science,  —  harder  to  forget  than  to  remem- 
ber 1  and  might  you  not  hope  to  begin  to  feel  the  delicious 
sensations  implied  in  growing  consciously  in  the  knowledge 
of  truth] 

I  have  taken  for  granted,  in  these  thoughts  on  the  best 
mode  of  administering  the  charity,  that  your  own  earnest  pur- 
pose will  be  to  turn  it,  by  some  mode,  to  its  utmost  account. 
The  gratitude  and  alacrity  with  which  you  accepted  the  gift 
show  quite  well  how  you  appreciate  the  claims  of  knowledge 
and  the  dignity  of  mental  culture,  and  what  value  you  set 
upon  this  rare  and  remarkable  appropriation  to  uses  so  lofty. 
I  have  no  need,  therefore,  to  exhort  you  to  profit  of  these 
opportunities ;  but  there  are  one  or  two  views  on  which  I  have 
formerly  reflected  somewhat,  and  which  I  will  briefly  lay 
before  you. 

It  is  quite  common  to  say,  and  much  more  common  to 
think,  without  saying  it  aloud,  that  mental  culture  and  learn- 
ing, above  the  elements,  may  well  claim  a  high  place,  as  luxu- 
ries and  indulgence,  and  even  a  grand  utility,  for  those  whose 
condition  allows  them  a  lifetime  for  such  luxury  and  such 
indulgence,  and  the  appropriation  of  such  a  good  ;  but  that 
for  labor  —  properly  so  called — they  can  do  little,  even  if 
labor  could  pause  to  acquire  them.  Not  so  has  the  founder  of 
this  charity  reasoned ;  nor  so  will  you.  He  would  say,  and 
so  do  I,  —  Seek  for  mental  power,  and  the  utmost  practicable 


DEDICATION   OF   THE   PEABODY  INSTITUTE.        ^'^g 

love  and  measure  of  knowledge,  exactly  because  they  will  do 
so  much  for  labor;  first,  to  inform  and  direct  its  exertions; 
secondly,  to  refine  and  adorn  it,  and  disengage  it  from  too  ab- 
solute an  immersion  in  matter,  and  bring  it  into  relation  to  the 
region  of  ideas  and  spirituality  and  abstraction ;  and,  thirdly, 
to  soothe  its  fatigues  and  relieve  its  burdens  and  compose  its 
discontent. 

True  is  it,  of  all  our  power,  eminence,  and  consideration, 
as  of  our  existence,  that  the  condition  is  labor.  Our  lot  is 
labor.  There  is  no  reversal  of  the  doom  of  man  for  us.  But 
is  that  a  reason  why  we  should  not  aspire  to  the  love  and 
attainment  of  learning,  and  to  the  bettering  of  the  mind  ? 
For  that  very  reason  we  should  do  so.  Does  not  the  industry 
of  a  people  at  last  rest  upon  and  embody  the  intellect  of  the  peo- 
ple ]      Is  not  its  industry  as  its  intellect  1 

I  say,  then,  forasmuch  as  we  are  children  of  labor,  cultivate 
mental  power.  Pointing  the  friends  of  humanity,  and  of 
America,  to  this  charity,  I  say  to  them,  go  and  do  likewise. 
Diffuse  mental  power.  Give  it  to  more  than  have  it  now. 
Give  it  in  a  higher  degree.  Give  it  in  earlier  life.  Think 
how  stupendous,  yet  how  practicable  it  were  to  make,  by  an 
improved  popular  culture,  the  entire  laborious  masses  of  New 
England  more  ingenious,  more  inventive,  more  prudent  than 
now  they  are.  How  nmch  were  effected,  —  how  much  for 
power ;  how  much  for  enjoyment ;  how  much  for  a  true 
glory,  —  by  this  accession  to  the  quality  of  its  mind.  It 
would  show  itself  in  half  a  century  in  every  acre  of  her  sur- 
face. In  the  time  it  would  save,  in  the  strength  it  would 
impart,  in  the  waste  it  would  prevent,  in  the  more  sedulous 
husbandry  of  all  the  gifts  of  God,  in  richer  soils,  created  or 
opened  ;  in  the  great  cooperating  forces  of  nature  —  air,  water, 
steam,  fertility  —  yoked  in  completer  obedience  to  the  car  of 
labor ;  in  the  multiplicity  of  useful  inventions,  those  unfailing 
exponents,  as  well  as  promoters,  of  popular  mental  activity 
and  reach  ;  in  the  aggregate  of  production,  swelled,  diversi- 
fied, enriched ;  in  the  refluent  wave  of  wealth,  subsiding  here 
and  there  in  reservoirs,  in  lakes,  in  springs  perennial,  but 
spread,  too,  everywhere  in  rills  and  streamlets,  and  falling  in 
the  descent  of  dew  and  the  dropping  of  the  cloud, — in  these 
things  you  would  see  the  peaceful  triumphs  of  an  improved 

40* 


4.7i 


LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES. 


mind.  Nor  in  these  alone,  or  chiefly.  More  beautiful  far, 
and  more  precious,  would  they  beam  abroad  in  the  elevation 
of  the  standard  of  comfortable  life  ;  in  the  heightened  sense 
of  individual  responsibility  and  respectability,  and  a  completer 
individual  development ;  in  happier  homes  ;  in  better  apprecia- 
tion of  the  sacredness  of  property,  and  the  sovereignty  of  jus- 
tice in  the  form  of  law ;  in  more  time  found  and  better  prized, 
when  the  tasks  of  the  day  were  all  well  done,  —  more  time 
found  and  better  prized  for  the  higher  necessities  of  the  intel- 
lect and  soul. 

I  have  not  time  to  dwell  now  on  the  second  reason,  by 
which  I  suggested  that  labor  should  be  persuaded  to  seek 
knowledge,  though  it  would  well  deserve  a  fuller  handling. 
You  find  that  reason  in  the  tendency  of  culture  and  learning  to 
refine  the  work-day  life,  and  adorn  it ;  to  disengage  it  from 
the  contacts  of  matter,  and  elevate  it  to  the  sphere  of  ideas 
and  abstraction  and  spirituality  ;  to  withdraw,  as  Dr.  Johnson 
has  said,  —  "  to  withdraw  us  from  the  power  of  our  senses ; 
to  make  the  past,  the  distant,  or  the  future  predominate  over 
the  present,  and  thus  to  advance  us  in  the  dignity  of  thinking 
beings."  Surely  we  need  not  add  a  self-inflicted  curse  to  that 
which  punished  the  fall.  To  earn  our  bread  in  the  sweat  of 
our  brow  is  ordained  to  us  certainly  ;  but  not,  therefore,  to 
forget  in  whose  image  we  were  made,  nor  to  sufl^er  all  beams  of 
the  original  brightness  to  go  out.  Who  has  doomed  us,  or  any 
of  us,  to  labor  so  exclusive  and  austere,  that  only  half,  the  lower 
half,  of  our  nature  can  survive  it  1  The  unrest  of  avarice,  or 
ambition,  or  vanity,  may  do  it ;  but  no  necessity  of  our  being, 
and  no  appointment  of  its  author.  Shall  we,  of  our  own 
election,  abase  ourselves  ?  Do  you  feel  that  the  mere  tasks  of 
daily  labor  ever  employ  the  whole  man  ]  Have  you  not  a 
conscious  nature,  other  and  beside  that  which  tills  the  earth, 
drives  the  plane,  squares  the  stone,  creates  the  fabric  of  art, — 
a  nature  intellectual,  spiritual,  moral,  capacious  of  science,  ca- 
pacious of  truth  beyond  the  sphere  of  sense,  with  large  dis- 
course of  reason,  looking  before  and  after,  and  taking  hold  on 
that  within  the  veil  ^ 

What  forbids  that  this  nature  shall  have  its  daily  bread  also 
day  by  day  1  What  forbids  that  it  have  time  to  nourish  its 
sympathy  Avith  all  kindred  human  blood,  by  studying  the  grand 


DEDICATION  OF   THE   PEABODY   INSTITUTE.         4^5 

facts  of  universal  history ;  to  learn  to  lock  beyond  the  chaotic 
flux  and  reflux  of  mere  appearances,  which  are  the  outside  of 
the  world  around  it,  into  their  scientific  relations  and  essential 
quality  ;  to  soar  from  effects  to  causes,  and  through  causes  to 
the  first ;  to  begin  to  recognize  and  to  love,  here  and  now,  in 
waning  moon  or  star  of  evening,  or  song  of  solemn  bird,  or 
fall  of  water,  or  "  self-born  carol  of  infancy,"  or  transcendent 
landscape,  or  glorious  self-sacrifice  —  to  begin  to  recognize 
and  love  in  these,  that  beauty  here  which  shall  be  its  dwelling- 
place  and  its  vesture  in  the  life  to  come  ;  to  accustom  itself  to 
discern,  in  all  vicissitudes  of  things,  the  changed  and  falling 
leaf,  the  golden  harvest,  the  angry  sigh  of  November's  wind, 
the  storm  of  snow,  the  temporary  death  of  nature,  the  opening 
of  the  chambers  of  the  South,  and  the  unresting  round  of 
seasons  —  to  discern  not  merely  the  sublime  circle  of  eternal 
change,  but  the  unfailing  law,  flowing  from  the  infinite  Mind, 
and  the  "varied  God  "  —  filling  and  moving,  and  in  all  things, 
yet  personal  and  apart'?  What  forbids  it  to  cultivate  and 
confirm 

"  The  glorious  habit  by  which  sense  is  made 
Subservient  still  to  moral  purposes, 
Auxiliar  to  divine  ?  " 

What  forbids  that  it  grow 

"  Accustomed  to  desires  that  feed 
On  fruitage  gathered  from  the  Tree  of  Life  ?  " 

I  do  not  say  that  every  man,  even  in  a  condition  of  compe- 
tence, can  exemplify  this  nobler  culture  and  this  rarer  knowl- 
edge. But  I  will  say  that  the  exactions  of  labor  do  not  hinder 
it.  Recall  a  familiar,  though  splendid  and  remarkable  instance 
or  two. 

Burns  reaped  as  much  and  as  wtII  as  the  duller  companion 
by  his  side,  and  meantime  was  conceiving  an  immortal  song  of 
Scotland  ;  and  Hugh  Miller  was  just  as  painstaking  a  stone- 
mason and  as  good  a  workman  as  if  he  had  not  so  husbanded 
his  spare  half-hours  and  moments  as  to  become,  while  an 
apprentice  and  journeyman,  a  profound  geologist  and  master  of 
a  clear  and  charming  English  style.  But  how  much  more  a 
man  was  the  poet  and  the  geologist ;  how  far  fuller  the  con- 
sciousness of  being ;  how  much  larger  the  daily  draught  of  that 


4,J6  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

admiration,  hope,  and  love,  which  are  the  hfe  and  voice  of 
souls ! 

I  come  to  add  the  final  reason  why  the  working  man,  by 
whom  I  mean  the  whole  brotherhood  of  industry,  should  set 
on  mental  culture  and  that  knowledge  which  is  wisdom  a  value 
so  high  —  only  not  supreme  —  subordinate  alone  to  the  ex- 
ercises and  hopes  of  religion  itself.  And  that  is,  that  therein 
he  shall  so  surely  find  rest  from  labor ;  succor  under  its  bur- 
dens ;  forgetfulness  of  its  cares,  composure  in  its  annoyances. 
It  is  not  always  that  the  busy  day  is  followed  by  the  peaceful 
night.  It  is  not  always  that  fatigue  wins  sleep.  Often  some 
vexation  outside  of  the  toil  that  has  exhausted  the  frame, 
some  loss  in  a  bargain,  some  loss  by  an  insolvency,  some  un- 
foreseen rise  or  fall  of  prices,  some  triumph  of  a  mean  or 
fraudulent  competitor, 

"  The  oppressor's  wrong,  the  proud  man's  contumely, 
The  pangs  of  despised  love,  the  law's  delay, 
The  insolence  of"  office,  and  the  spurns 
That  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes," 

some  self-reproach,  perhaps,  follow  you  within  the  door,  chill 
the  fireside,  sow  the  pillow  with  thorns,  and  the  dark  care  is 
last  in  the  last  waking  thought,  and  haunts  the  vivid  dream. 
Happy,  then,  is  he  who  has  laid  up  in  youth,  and  held  fast 
in  all  fortune,  a  genuine  and  passionate  love  of  reading. 
True  balm  of  hurt  minds ;  of  surer  and  more  healthful 
charm  than  "poppy  or  mandragora,  or  all  the  drowsy  syrups 
of  the  world,"  by  that  single  taste,  —  by  that  single  capac- 
ity, he  may  bound  in  a  moment  into  the  still  region  of  de- 
lightful studies,  and  be  at  rest.  He  recalls  the  annoyance 
that  pursues  him  ;  reflects  that  he  has  done  all  that  might 
become  a  man  to  avoid  or  bear  it ;  he  indulges  in  one  good, 
long,  human  sigh,  picks  up  the  volume  where  the  mark 
kept  his  place,  and  in  about  the  same  time  that  it  takes  the 
Mahometan  in  the  Spectator  to  put  his  head  in  the  bucket  of 
water,  and  raise  it  out,  he  finds  himself  exploring  the  arrow- 
marked  ruins  of  Nineveh  with  Layard ;  or  worshipping  at  the 
spring-head  of  the  stupendous  Missouri,  with  Clark  and  Lewis; 
or  watching  with  Columbus  for  the  sublime  moment  of  the  ris- 
ing of  the  curtain  from  before  the  great  mystery  of  the  sea  ; 
or  looking  reverentially  on  while  Socrates  —  the  discourse  of 


DEDICATION   OF   THE   PEABODY  INSTITUTE.         4^^ 

immortality  ended  —  refuses  the  offer  of  escape,  and  takes  in 
his  hand  the  poison  to  die  in  obedience  to  the  unrighteous 
sentence  of  the  law ;  or,  perhaps,  it  is  in  the  contemplation 
of  some  vast  spectacle  or  phenomenon  of  nature  that  he  has 
found  his  quick  peace  —  the  renewed  exploration  of  one  of 
her  great  laws  —  or  some  glimpse  opened  by  the  pencil  of 
St.  Pierre,  or  Humboldt,  or  Chateaubriand,  or  Wilson,  of  the 
"  blessedness  and  glory  of  her  own  deep,  calm,  and  mighty 
existence." 

Let  the  case  of  a  busy  lawyer  testify  to  the  priceless  value 
of  the  love  of  reading.  He  comes  home,  his  temples  throbbing, 
his  nerves  shattered,  from  a  trial  of  a  week  ;  surprised  and 
alarmed  by  the  charge  of  the  judge,  and  pale  with  anxiety 
about  the  verdict  of  the  next  morning,  not  at  all  satisfied  with 
what  he  has  done  himself,  though  he  does  not  yet  see  how  he 
could  have  improved  it ;  recalling  with  dread  and  self-dispar- 
agement, if  not  with  envy,  the  brilliant  effort  of  his  antagonist, 
and  tormenting  himself  with  the  vain  wish  that  he  could  have 
replied  to  it — •  and  altogether  a  very  miserable  subject,  and  in 
as  unfavorable  a  condition  to  accept  comfort  from  wife  and 
children  as  poor  Christian  in  the  first  three  pages  of  the  Pil- 
grim's Progress.  With  a  superhuman  effort  he  opens  his 
book,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he  is  looking  into  the  full 
"  orb  of  Homeric  or  Miltonic  song,"  or  he  stands  in  the  crowd 
— breathless,  yet  swayed  as  forests  or  the  sea  by  winds — hear- 
ing and  to  judge  the  Pleadings  for  the  Crown ;  or  the  philos- 
ophy which  soothed  Cicero  or  Boethius  in  their  afflictions,  in 
exile,  prison,  and  the  contemplation  of  death,  breathes  over  his 
petty  cares  like  the  sweet  south  ;  or  Pope  or  Horace  laughs  him 
into  good  humor;  or  he  walks  with  iEneas  and  the  Sibyl  in  the 
mild  light  of  the  world  of  the  laurelled  dead ;  and  the  court- 
house is  as  completely  forgotten  as  the  dreams  of  a  pre-adamite 
life.  Well  may  he  prize  that  endeared  charm,  so  effectual  and 
safe,  without  which  the  brain  had  long  ago  been  chilled  by  pa- 
ralysis, or  set  on  fire  of  insanity ! 

To  these  uses  and  these  enjoyments,  to  mental  culture  and 
knowledge  and  morality,  the  guide,  the  grace,  the  solace  of 
labor  on  all  his  fields,  we  dedicate  this  charity !  May  it  bless 
you  in  all  your  successions !  and  may  the  admirable  giver  sur- 


478  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES, 

vive  to  see  that  the  debt  which  he  recognizes  to  the  future  is 
completely  discharged  ;  survive  to  enjoy  in  the  gratitude  and 
love  and  honor  of  this  generation,  the  honor  and  love  and 
gratitude  with  which  the  latest  will  assuredly  cherish  his  name, 
and  partake  and  transmit  his  benefaction ! 


REMARKS    BEFORE    THE    CIRCUIT    COURT    ON 
THE    DEATH    OF    MR.    WEBSTER. 


[Mr.  Webster  died  on  Sunday  morning,  October  24,  1852.  The 
members  of  the  Suffolk  Bar  met  on  Monday  morning,  and  appointed  a 
committee  to  report  a  series  of  resolutions.  These  were  read  and 
adopted  at  an  adjourned  meeting,  Thursday,  October  28th,  and  imme- 
diately presented  to  the  Circuit  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Dis- 
trict of  Massachusetts,  Curtis  and  Sprague,  Justices,  on  the  Bench. 
They  were  read  by  the  Hon.  George  S.  Hillard,  after  which  Mr.  Choate 
made  the  following  remarks.] 

May  it  please  your  Honors  :  — 

I  HAVE  been  requested  by  the  members  of  the  Bar  of  this 
Court  to  add  a  few  words  to  the  resolutions  just  read,  in  which 
they  have  embodied,  as  they  were  able,  their  sorrow  for  the 
death  of  their  beloved  and  illustrious  member  and  country- 
man, Mr.  Webster ;  their  estimation  of  his  character,  life,  and 
genius ;  their  sense  of  the  bereavement,  —  to  the  country  as 
to  his  friends,  —  incapable  of  repair ;  the  pride,  the  fondness, 
—  the  filial  and  the  patriotic  pride  and  fondness, — with  which 
they  cherish,  and  would  consign  to  history  to  cherish,  the  mem- 
ory of  a  great  and  good  man. 

And  yet,  I  could  earnestly  have  desired  to  be  excused  from 
this  duty.  He  must  have  known  Mr.  Webster  less,  and  loved 
him  less,  than  your  honors  or  than  I  have  known  and  loved 
him,  who  can  quite  yet,  — ■  quite  yet,  —  before  we  can  compre- 
hend that  we  have  lost  him  forever, —  before  the  first  paleness 
with  which  the  news  of  his  death  overspread  our  cheeks  has 
passed  away,  —  before  we  have  been  down  to  lay  him  in  the 
Pilgrim  soil  he  loved  so  well,  till  the  heavens  be  no  more,  — 
he  must  have  known  and  loved  him  less  than  we  have  done, 
who  can  come  here  quite  yet,  to  recount  the  series  of  his  ser- 


480  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

vice,  to  display  with  psychological  exactness  the  traits  of  his 
nature  and  mind,  to  ponder  and  specidate  on  the  secrets  —  on 
the  marvellous  secrets  —  and  source  of  that  vast  powder,  which 
we  shall  see  no  more  in  action,  nor  aught  in  any  degree  resem- 
hhng  it,  among  men.  These  first  moments  should  be  given 
to  grief.  It  may  employ,  it  may  promote  a  calmer  mood,  to 
construct  a  more  elaborate  and  less  unworthy  memorial. 

For  the  purposes  of  this  moment  and  place,  indeed,  no  more 
is  needed.  What  is  there  for  this  Court  or  for  this  Bar  to 
learn  from  me,  here  and  now,  of  him  1  The  year  and  the  day 
of  his  birth ;  that  birthplace  on  the  frontier,  yet  bleak  and 
waste ;  the  well,  of  which  his  childhood  drank,  dug  by  that 
father  of  whom  he  has  said,  "  that  through  the  fire  and  blood 
of  seven  years  of  revolutionary  war  he  shrank  from  no  danger, 
no  toil,  no  sacrifice,  to  serve  his  country,  and  to  raise  his  chil- 
dren to  a  condition  better  than  his  own ;  "  the  elm-tree  that 
father  planted,  fallen  now,  as  father  and  son  have  fallen  ;  that 
training  of  the  giant  infancy  on  catechism  and  Bible,  and  Watts's 
version  of  the  Psalms,  and  the  traditions  of  Plymouth,  and 
Fort  William  Henry,  and  the  Revolution,  and  the  age  of  Wash- 
ington and  Franklin,  on  the  banks  of  the  Merrimack,  flowing 
sometimes  in  flood  and  anger,  from  his  secret  springs  in  the 
crystal  hills ;  the  two  district  schoolmasters.  Chase  and  Tap- 
pan  ;  the  village  library ;  the  dawning  of  the  love  and  ambi- 
tion of  letters ;  the  few  months  at  Exeter  and  Boscawen  ;  the 
life  of  college ;  the  probationary  season  of  school-teaching  ; 
the  clerkship  in  the  Fryeburg  Registry  of  Deeds ;  his  admis- 
sion to  the  bar,  presided  over  by  judges  like  Smith,  illustrated 
by  practisers  such  as  Mason,  where,  by  the  studies,  in  the  con- 
tentions of  nine  years,  he  laid  the  foundation  of  the  profes- 
sional mind ;  his  irresistible  attraction  to  public  life ;  the  ora- 
tion on  commerce  ;  the  Rockingham  resolutions ;  his  first  term 
of  four  years'  service  in  Congress,  when,  by  one  bound,  he 
sprang  to  his  place  by  the  side  of  the  foremost  of  the  rising 
American  statesmen ;  his  removal  to  this  State ;  and  then  the 
double  and  parallel  current  in  which  his  life,  studies,  thoughts, 
cares,  have  since  flowed,  bearing  him  to  the  leadership  of  the 
Bar  by  universal  acclaim,  bearing  him  to  the  leadership  of  pub- 
lic life,  —  last  of  that  surpassing  triumvirate,  shall  we  say  the 
greatest,  the   most  widely  known  and  admired  ?  —  all  these 


REMARKS  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER.        481 

thing's,  to  their  minutest  details,  are  known  and  rehearsed 
famiHarly.  Happier  than  the  younger  Pliny,  happier  than 
Cicero,  he  has  found  his  historian,  unsolicited,  in  his  lifetime, 
and  his  countrymen  have  him  all  by  heart ! 

There  is,  then,  nothing  to  tell  you,  —  nothing  to  bring  to 
mind.  And  then,  if  I  may  borrow  the  language  of  one  of  his 
historians  and  friends,  —  one  of  those  through  whose  beautiful 
pathos  the  common  sorrow  uttered  itself  yesterday,  in  Faneuil 
Hall, —  "  I  dare  not  come  here  and  dismiss  in  a  few  summary 
paragraphs  the  character  of  one  who  has  filled  such  a  space  in 
the  history,  one  who  holds  such  a  place  in  the  heart,  of  his  coun- 
try. It  would  be  a  disrespectful  familiarity  to  a  man  of  his  lofty 
spirit,  his  great  soul,  his  rich  endowments,  his  long  and  hon- 
orable life,  to  endeavor  thus  to  weigh  and  estimate  them," — a 
half-hour  of  words,  a  handful  of  earth,  for  fifty  years  of  great 
deeds,  on  high  places  ! 

But,  although  the  time  does  not  require  anything  elaborated 
and  adequate,  —  forbids  it,  rather,  —  some  broken  sentences 
of  veneration  and  love  may  be  indulged  to  the  sorrow  which 
oppresses  us. 

There  presents  itself,  on  the  first  and  to  any  observation  of 
Mr.  Webster's  life  and  character,  a  twofold  eminence,  —  emi- 
nence of  the  very  highest  rank,  —  in  a  twofold  field  of  intel- 
lectual and  public  display,  —  the  profession  of  the  law  and  the 
profession  of  statesmanship,  —  of  which  it  would  not  be  easy 
to  recall  any  parallel  in  the  biography  of  illustrious  men. 

Without  seeking  for  parallels,  and  without  asserting  that 
they  do  not  exist,  consider  that  he  was,  by  universal  designa- 
tion, the  leader  of  the  general  American  Bar;  and  that  he 
was,  also,  by  an  equally  universal  designation,  foremost  of  her  ~ 
statesmen  living  at  his  death  ;  inferior  to  not  one  who  has 
lived  and  acted  since  the  opening  of  his  own  public  life.  Look 
at  these  aspects  of  his  greatness  separately,  and  from  opposite 
sides  of  the  surpassing  elevation.  Consider  that  his  single 
career  at  the  bar  may  seem  to  have  been  enough  to  employ 
the  largest  faculties,  without  repose,  for  a  lifetime ;  and  that, 
if  then  and  thus  the  '-'•  infinitus  forensium  rerimi  labor'''  should 
have  conducted  him  to  a  mere  professional  reward,  —  a  bench 
of  chancery  or  law,  the  crown  of  the  first  of  advocates,  juris- 
'peritorum  eloquentissimus^  —  to  the  pure  and  mere  honors  of 

VOL.    I.  41 


482  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

a  great  magistrate, — that  that  would  be  as  much  as  is  allotted 
to  the  ablest  in  the  distribution  of  fame.  Even  that  half,  if  I 
may  say  so,  of  his  illustrious  reputation  —  how  long  the  labor 
to  win  it,  how  worthy  of  all  that  labor  !  He  was  bred  first  in 
the  severest  school  of  the  common  law,  in  which  its  doctrines 
were  expounded  by  Smith,  and  its  administration  shaped  and 
directed  by  Mason,  and  its  foundation  principles,  its  historical 
sources  and  illustrations,  its  connection  with  the  parallel  series 
of  statutory  enactments,  its  modes  of  reasoning,  and  the  evi- 
dence of  its  truths,  he  grasped  easily  and  completely ;  and  I 
have  myself  heard  him  say,  that  for  many  years  while  still  at 
that  bar,  he  tried  more  causes,  and  argued  more  questions  of 
fact  to  the  jury  than  perhaps  any  other  member  of  the  profes- 
sion anywhere.  I  have  heard  from  others  how,  even  then,  he 
exemplified  the  same  direct,  clear,  and  forcible  exhibition  of 
proofs,  and  the  reasonings  appropriate  to  proofs,  as  well  as  the 
same  marvellous  power  of  discerning  instantly  what  we  call 
the  decisive  points  of  the  cause  in  law  and  fact,  by  which  he 
was  later  more  widely  celebrated.  This  was  the  first  epoch  in 
his  professional  training. 

With  the  commencement  of  his  public  life,  or  with  his  later 
removal  to  this  State,  began  the  second  epoch  of  his  profes- 
sional training,  conducting  him  through  the  gradation  of  the 
national  tribunals  to  the  study  and  practice  of  the  more  flexi- 
ble, elegant,  and  scientific  jurisprudence  of  commerce  and  of 
chancery,  and  to  the  grander  and  less  fettered  investigations  of 
international,  prize,  and  constitutional  law,  and  giving  him  to 
breathe  the  air  of  a  more  famous  forum,  in  a  more  public  pres- 
ence, with  more  variety  of  competition,  although  he  never  met 
abler  men,  as  I  have  heard  him  say,  than  some  of  those  who 
initiated  him  in  the  rugged  discipline  of  the  Courts  of  New 
Hampshire  ;  and  thus,  at  length,  by  these  studies,  these  labors, 
this  contention,  continued  without  repose,  he  came,  now  many 
years  ago,  to  stand  omnium  assensu  at  the  summit  of  the  Amer- 
ican Bar. 

It  is  common  and  it  is  easy,  in  the  case  of  all  in  such  posi- 
tion, to  point  out  other  lawyers,  here  and  there,  as  possessing 
some  special  qualification  or  attainment  more  remarkably,  per- 
haps, because  more  exclusively,  —  to  say  of  one  that  he  has 
more  cases  in  his  recollection  at  any  given  moment,  or  that  he 


REMARKS  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER.        483 

was  earlier  grounded  in  equity,  or  has  gathered  more  hlack 
letter  or  civil  law,  or  knowledge  of  Spanish  or  of  Western 
titles,  —  and  these  comparisons  were  sometimes  made  with 
him.  But  when  you  sought  a  counsel  of  the  first  rate  for  the 
great  cause,  who  would  most  surely  discern  and  most  power- 
fully expound  the  exact  law,  required  by  the  controversy,  in 
season  for  use ;  who  could  most  skilfully  encounter  the  oppos- 
ing law ;  under  whose  powers  of  analysis,  persuasion  and  dis- 
play, the  asserted  right  would  assume  the  most  probable  aspect 
before  the  intelligence  of  the  judge ;  who,  if  the  inquiry  be- 
came blended  with  or  resolved  into  facts,  could  most  completely 
develop  and  most  irresistibly  expose  them ;  one  "  the  law's 
whole  thunder  born  to  wield,"  —  when  you  sought  such  a 
counsel,  and  could  have  the  choice,  I  think  the  universal  pro- 
fession would  have  turned  to  him.  And  this  would  be  so  in 
nearly  every  description  of  cause,  in  any  department.  Some 
able  men  wield  civil  inquiries  with  a  peculiar  ability;  some 
criminal.  How  lucidly  and  how  deeply  he  elucidated  a  ques- 
tion of  property,  you  all  know.  But  then,  with  what  address, 
feeling,  pathos,  and  prudence  he  defended,  with  what  dignity 
and  crushing  power,  accusatorio  spiritu^  he  prosecuted  the 
accused  of  crime,  whom  he  believed  to  have  been  guilty,  few 
have  seen ;  but  none  who  have  seen  can  ever  forget  it. 

Some  scenes  there  are,  some  Alpine  eminences  rising  above 
the  high  table-land  of  such  a  professional  life,  to  which,  in  the 
briefest  tribute,  we  should  love  to  follow  him.  We  recall  that 
day,  for  an  instance,  when  he  first  announced,  with  decisive 
display,  what  manner  of  man  he  was,  to  the  Supreme  Court 
of  the  Nation.  It  was  in  1818,  and  it  was  in  the  argument 
of  the  case  of  Dartmouth  College.  William  Pinkney  was 
recruiting  his  great  faculties,  and  replenishing  that  reservoir 
of  professional  and  elegant  acquisition,  in  Europe.  Samuel 
Dexter,  "  the  honorable  man,  and  the  counsellor,  and  the  elo- 
quent orator,"  was  in  his  grave.  The  boundless  old-school 
learning  of  Luther  Martin ;  the  silver  voice  and  infinite 
analytical  ingenuity  and  resources  of  Jones ;  the  fervid  genius 
of  Emmett  pouring  itself  along  immenso  ore  j  the  ripe  and 
beautiful  culture  of  Wirt  and  Hopkinson  —  the  steel  point, 
unseen,  not  unfelt,  beneath  the  foliage ;  Harper  himself,  states- 
man as  well  as  lawyer,  —  these,  and  such  as  these,  were  left 


484  LECTURES    AND   ADDRESSES. 

of  that  noble  bar.  That  day  Mr.  Webster  opened  the  cause 
of  Dartmouth  College  to  a  tribunal  unsurpassed  on  earth  in 
all  that  gives  illustration  to  a  bench  of  law,  not  one  of  whom 
any  longer  survives. 

One  would  love  to  linger  on  the  scene,  when,  after  a  mas- 
terly argument  of  the  law,  carrying,  as  we  may  now  know, 
conviction  to  the  general  mind  of  the  court,  and  vindicating 
and  settling  for  his  lifetime  his  place  in  that  forum,  he  paused 
to  enter,  with  an  altered  feeling,  tone,  and  manner,  with  these 
words,  on  his  peroration  :  "  I  have  brought  my  Altna  Mater  to 
this  presence,  that,  if  she  must  fall,  she  may  fall  in  her  robes 
and  with  dignity ;  "  and  then  broke  forth  in  that  strain  of  sub- 
lime and  pathetic  eloquence,  of  which  we  know  not  much  more 
than  that,  in  its  progress,  Marshall, —  the  intellectual,  the  self- 
controlled,  the  unemotional,  —  announced,  visibly,  the  presence 
of  the  unaccustomed  enchantment. 

Other  forensic  triumphs  crowd  on  us,  in  other  competition, 
with  other  issues.  But  I  must  commit  them  to  the  historian 
of  constitutional  jurisprudence. 

And  now,  if  this  transcendent  professional  reputation  were 
all  of  Mr.  Webster,  it  might  be  practicable,  though  not  easy, 
to  find  its  parallel  elsewhere,  in  our  own,  or  in  European  or 
classical  biography. 

But,  when  you  consider  that,  side  by  side  with  this,  there 
was  growing  up  that  other  reputation,  —  that  of  the  first  Amer- 
ican statesman ;  that,  for  thirty-three  years,  and  those  embra- 
cing his  most  Herculean  works  at  the  bar,  he  was  engaged  as 
a  member  of  either  House,  or  in  the  highest  of  the  executive 
departments,  in  the  conduct  of  the  largest  national  affairs,  in 
the  treatment  of  the  largest  national  questions,  in  debate  with 
the  highest  abilities  of  American  public  life,  conducting  diplo- 
matic intercourse  in  delicate  relations  with  all  manner  of  for- 
eign powers,  investigating  whole  classes  of  truths,  totally  unlike 
the  truths  of  the  law,  and  resting  on  principles  totally  distinct, 
—  and  that  here,  too,  he  was  wise,  safe,  controlling,  trusted, 
the  foremost  man ;  that  Europe  had  come  to  see  in  his  life  a 
guaranty  for  justice,  for  peace,  for  the  best  hopes  of  civiliza- 
tion, and  America  to  feel  surer  of  her  glory  and  her  safety  as 
his  great  arm  enfolded  her,  —  you  see  how  rare,  how  solitary, 
almost,  was  the  actual  greatness !      Who,  anywhere,  has  won, 


REMARKS  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER.         435 

as  he  had,  the  double  fame,  and  worn  the  double  wreath  of 
Murray  and  Chatham,  of  Dunning  and  Fox,  of  Erskine  and 
Pitt,  of  William  Pinkney  and  Rufus  King-,  in  one  blended 
and  transcendent  superiority  ^ 

I  cannot  attempt  to  grasp  and  sum  up  the  aggregate  of  the 
service  of  his  public  life  at  such  a  moment  as  this ;  and  it  is 
needless.  That  life  comprised  a  term  of  more  than  tliirty- 
three  years.  It  produced  a  body  of  performance,  of  which  I 
may  say,  generally,  it  was  all  which  the  iirst  abilities  of  the 
country  and  time,  employed  with  unexampled  toil,  stimulated 
by  the  noblest  patriotism,  in  the  highest  places  of  the  State, 
in  the  fear  of  God,  in  the  presence  of  nations,  could  possibly 
compass. 

He  came  into  Congress  after  the  war  of  1812  had  begun, 
and  though  probably  deeming  it  unnecessary,  according  to  the 
highest  standards  of  public  necessity,  in  his  private  character, 
and  objecting,  in  his  public  character,  to  some  of  the  details  of 
the  policy  by  which  it  was  prosecuted,  and  standing  by  party 
ties  in  general  opposition  to  the  administration,  he  never 
breathed  a  sentiment  calculated  to  depress  the  tone  of  the 
public  mind,  to  aid  or  comfort  the  enemy,  to  check  or  chill 
the  stirrings  of  that  new,  passionate,  unquenchable  spirit  of 
nationality,  which  then  was  revealed,  or  kindled  to  burn  till 
we  go  down  to  the  tombs  of  States. 

With  the  peace  of  1815  his  more  cherished  public  labors 
began ;  and  thenceforward  he  devoted  himself,  —  the  ardor 
of  his  civil  youth,  the  energies  of  his  maturest  manhood,  the 
autumnal  wisdom  of  the  ripened  year,  —  to  the  offices  of  leg- 
islation and  diplomacy ;  of  preserving  the  peace,  keeping  the 
honor,  establishing  the  boundaries,  and  vindicating  the  neutral 
rights  of  his  country ;  restoring  a  sound  currency,  and  laying 
its  foundation  sure  and  deep  ;  in  upholding  public  credit ;  in 
promoting  foreign  commerce  and  domestic  industry  ;  in  devel- 
oping our  uncounted  material  resources, —  giving  the  lake  and 
the  river  to  trade,  —  and  vindicating  and  interpreting  the  con- 
stitution and  the  law.  On  all  these  subjects,  —  on  all  meas- 
ures practically  in  any  degree  affecting  them,  —  he  has  inscribed 
his  opinions  and  left  the  traces  of  his  hand.  Everywhere  the 
philosophical  and  patriot  statesman  and  thinker  will  find  that 
he  has  been  before  him,  lighting  the  way,  sounding  the  abyss. 

41  * 


486  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

His  weighty  language,  his  sagacious  warnings,  his  great  max- 
ims of  empire,  will  be  raised  to  view,  and  live  to  be  deciphered 
when  the  final  catastroplie  shall  lift  the  granite  foundation  in 
fragments  from  its  bed. 

In  this  connection  I  cannot  but  remark  to  how  extraordinary 
an  extent  had  Mr.  Webster,  by  his  acts,  words,  thoughts,  or  the 
events  of  his  life,  associated  himself  forever  in  the  memory  of 
all  of  us  with  every  historical  incident,  or,  at  least,  with  every 
historical  epoch,  with  every  policy,  with  every  glory,  with  every 
great  name  and  fundamental  institution,  and  grand  or  beautiful 
image,  which  are  peculiarly  and  properly  American.  Look 
backwards  to  the  planting  of  Plymouth  and  Jamestown ;  to 
the  various  scenes  of  colonial  life  in  peace  and  war ;  to  the 
opening  and  march  and  close  of  the  revolutionary  drama ;  to 
the  age  of  the  constitution  ;  to  Washington  and  Franklin  and 
Adams  and  Jefferson  ;  to  the  whole  train  of  causes,  from  the 
reformation  downwards,  which  prepared  us  to  be  republicans ; 
to  that  other  train  of  causes  which  led  us  to  be  unionists,  — • 
look  round  on  field,  workshop,  and  deck,  and  hear  the  music 
of  labor  rewarded,  fed,  and  protected  ;  look  on  the  bright  sis- 
terhood of  the  States,  each  singing  as  a  seraph  in  her  motion, 
yet  blending  in  a  common  harmony,  —  and  there  is  nothing 
which  does  not  bring  him  by  some  tie  to  the  memory  of 
America.  We  seem  to  see  his  form  and  hear  his  deep,  grave 
speech  everywhere.  By  some  felicity  of  his  personal  life ; 
by  some  wise,  deep,  or  beautiful  word,  spoken  or  written  ; 
by  some  service  of  his  own,  or  some  commemoration  of 
the  services  of  others,  it  has  come  to  pass  that  "  our  gran- 
ite hills,  our  inland  seas,  and  prairies,  and  fresh,  unbounded, 
magnificent  wilderness,"  our  encircling  ocean,  the  Rock  of 
the  Pilgrims,  our  new-born  sister  of  the  Pacific,  our  popular 
assemblies,  our  free  schools,  all  our  cherished  doctrines  of  edu- 
cation, and  of  the  influence  of  religion,  and  material  policy, 
and  the  law,  and  the  constitution,  give  us  back  his  name. 
What  American  landscape  will  you  look  on,  what  subject  of 
American  interest  will  you  study,  what  source  of  hope  or  of 
anxiety,  as  an  American,  will  you  acknowledge,  that  does  not 
recall  him  ! 

I  sliall  not  venture,  in  this  rapid  and  general  recollection  of 
Mr.  Webster,  to  attempt  to  analyze   that  intellectual  power 


REMARKS  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER. 


487 


which  all  admit  to  have  been  so  extraordinary,  or  to  compare 
or  contrast  it  with  the  mental  greatness  of  others,  in  variety  or 
degree,  of  the  living  or  the  dead ;  or  even  to  attempt  to  appre- 
ciate, exactly,  and  in  reference  to  canons  of  art,  his  single 
attribute  of  eloquence.  Consider,  however,  the  remarkable 
phenomenon  of  excellence  in  three  unkindred,  one  might  have 
thought,  incompatible  forms  of  public  speech,  —  that  of  the 
forum,  with  its  double  audience  of  bench  and  jury,  of  the 
halls  of  legislation,  and  of  the  most  thronged  and  tumultuous 
assemblies  of  the  people. 

Consider,  further,  that  this  multiform  eloquence,  exactly  as 
his  words  fell,  became  at  once  so  much  accession  to  pei'manent 
literature,  in  the  strictest  sense,  solid,  attractive,  and  rich,  and 
ask  how  often  in  the  history  of  public  life  such  a  thing  has 
been  exemplified.  Recall  what  pervaded  all  these  forms  of 
display,  and  every  effort  in  every  form,  —  that  union  of  naked 
intellect,  in  its  largest  measure,  which  penetrates  to  the  exact 
truth  of  the  matter  in  hand,  by  intuition  or  by  inference,  and 
discerns  everything  which  may  make  it  intelligible,  probable, 
or  credible  to  another,  with  an  emotional  and  moral  nature 
profound,  passionate,  and  ready  to  kindle,  and  with  an  imagi- 
nation enough  to  supply  a  hundred-fold  more  of  illustration  and 
aggrandizement  than  his  taste  suffered  him  to  accept ;  that 
union  of  greatness  of  soul  with  depth  of  heart,  which  made 
his  speaking  almost  more  an  exhibition  of  character  than  of 
mere  genius ;  the  style,  not  merely  pure,  clear  Saxon,  but  so 
constructed,  so  numerous  as  far  as  becomes  prose,  so  forcible, 
so  abounding  in  unlabored  felicities  ;  the  words  so  choice ; 
the  epithet  so  pictured  ;  the  matter  absolute  truth,  or  the  most 
exact  and  specious  resemblance  the  human  wit  can  devise ;  the 
treatment  of  the  subject,  if  you  have  regard  to  the  kind  of 
truth  he  had  to  handle,  —  political,  ethical,  legal,  —  as  deep, 
as  complete  as  Paley's,  or  Locke's,  or  Butler's,  or  Alexander 
Hamilton's,  of  their  subjects ;  yet  that  depth  and  that  com- 
pleteness of  sense,  made  transparent  as  through  crystal  waters, 
all  embodied  in  harmonious  or  well-composed  periods,  raised 
on  winged  language,  vivified,  fused,  and  poured  along  in  a  tide 
of  emotion,  fervid,  and  incapable  to  be  withstood ;  recall  the 
form,  the  eye,  the  brow,  the  tone  of  voice,  the  presence  of  the 
intellectual  king  of  men,  —  recall  him  thus,  and,  in  the  Ian- 


488  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

guage  of  Mr.  Justice  Story,  commemorating  Samuel  Dexter, 
we  may  well  "  rejoice  that  we  have  lived  in  the  same  age,  that 
we  have  listened  to  his  eloquence,  and  been  instructed  by  his 
wisdom." 

I  cannot  leave  the  subject  of  his  eloquence  without  returning 
to  a  thought  I  have  advanced  already.  All  that  he  has  left,  or 
the  larger  portion  of  all,  is  the  record  of  spoken  words.  His 
works,  as  already  collected,  extend  to  many  volumes, — a  library 
of  reason  and  eloquence,  as  Gibbon  has  said  of  Cicero's, — but 
they  are  volumes  of  speeches  only,  or  mainly ;  and  yet,  who 
does  not  rank  him  as  a  great  American  author  ?  an  author  as 
truly  expounding,  and  as  characteristically  exemplifying,  in  a 
pure,  genuine,  and  harmonious  English  style,  the  mind,  thought, 
point  of  view  of  objects,  and  essential  nationality  of  his  coun- 
try as  any  other  of  our  authors,  professedly  so  denominated  ? 
Against  the  maxim  of  Mr.  Fox,  his  speeches  read  well,  and  yet 
were  good  speeches,  —  great  speeches, —  in  the  delivery.  For 
so  grave  were  they,  so  thoughtful  and  true,  so  much  the  elo- 
quence of  reason  at  last,  so  strikingly  always  they  contrived  to 
link  the  immediate  topic  with  other  and  broader  principles, 
ascending  easily  to  widest  generalizations,  so  happy  was  the 
reconciliation  of  the  qualities  which  engage  the  attention  of 
hearers,  yet  reward  the  perusal  of  students,  so  critically  did 
they  keep  the  right  side  of  the  line  which  parts  eloquence  from 
rhetoric,  and  so  far  do  they  rise  above  the  penury  of  mere 
debate,  that  the  general  reason  of  the  country  has  enshrined 
them  at  once,  and  forever,  among  our  classics. 

It  is  a  common  belief  that  Mr.  Webster  was  a  various 
reader ;  and  I  think  it  is  true,  even  to  a  greater  degree  than 
has  been  believed.  In  his  profession  of  politics,  nothing,  I 
think,  worthy  of  attention  had  escaped  him ;  nothing  of  the 
ancient  or  modern  prudence ;  nothing  which  Greek  or  Roman 
or  European  speculation  in  that  walk  had  explored,  or  Greek 
or  Roman  or  European  or  universal  history,  or  public  biogra- 
phy exemplified.  I  shall  not  soon  forget  with  what  admiration 
he  spake,  at  an  interview  to  which  he  admitted  me,  while  in  the 
Law  School  at  Cambridge,  of  the  politics  and  ethics  of  Aris- 
totle, and  of  the  mighty  mind  which,  as  he  said,  seemed  to  have 
"  thought  through  "  so  many  of  the  great  problems  which  form 
the  discipline  of  social  man.     American  history  and  American 


EEMARKS  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER.    489 

political  literature  he  had  by  heart,  —  the  long-  series  of  influ- 
ences which  trained  us  for  representative  and  free  government ; 
that  other  series  of  influences  which  moulded  us  into  a  united 
government ;  the  colonial  era ;  the  age  of  controversy  before 
the  revolution  ;  every  scene  and  every  person  in  that  great 
tragic  action  ;  every  question  which  has  successively  engaged 
our  politics,  and  every  name  which  has  figured  in  them,  —  the 
whole  stream  of  our  time  was  open,  clear,  and  present  ever  to 
his  eye. 

Beyond  his  profession  of  politics,  so  to  call  it,  he  had  been 
a  diligent  and  choice  reader,  as  his  extraordinary  style  in  part 
reveals  ;  and  I  think  the  love  of  reading  would  have  gone  with 
him  to  a  later  and  riper  age,  if  to  such  an  age  it  had  been  the 
will  of  God  to  preserve  him.  This  is  no  place  or  time  to  appre- 
ciate this  branch  of  his  acquisitions ;  but  there  is  an  interest 
inexpressible  in  knowing  who  were  any  of  the  chosen  from 
among  the  great  dead  in  the  library  of  such  a  man.  Others 
may  correct  me,  but  I  should  say  of  that  interior  and  narrower 
circle  were  Cicero,  Virgil,  Shakspeare, — whom  he  knew  famil- 
iarly as  the  constitution, — Bacon,  Milton,  Burke,  Johnson, — to 
whom  I  hope  it  is  not  pedantic  nor  fanciful  to  say,  I  often 
thought  his  nature  presented  some  resemblance ;  the  same 
abundance  of  the  general  propositions  required  for  explaining 
a  difficulty  and  refuting  a  sophism  copiously  and  promptly 
occurring  to  him  ;  the  same  kindness  of  heart  and  wealth  of 
sensibility,  under  a  manner,  of  course,  more  courteous  and 
gracious,  yet  more  sovereign ;  the  same  sufficient,  yet  not 
predominant,  imagination,  stooping  ever  to  truth,  and  giving 
affluence,  vivacity,  and  attraction  to  a  powerful,  correct,  and 
weighty  style  of  prose. 

I  cannot  leave  this  life  and  character  without  selecting  and 
dwelling  a  moment  on  one  or  two  of  his  traits,  or  virtues, 
or  felicities,  a  little  longer.  There  is  a  collective  impression 
made  by  the  whole  of  an  eminent  person's  life,  beyond  and 
other  than,  and  apart  from,  that  which  the  mere  general  biog- 
rapher would  afford  the  means  of  explaining.  There  is  an 
influence  of  a  great  man  derived  from  things  indescribable, 
almost,  or  incapable  of  enumeration,  or  singly  insufficient  to 
account  for  it,  but  through  which  his  spirit  transpires,  and  his 
individuality  goes  forth  on  the  contemporary  generation.     And 


490  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

thus,  I  should  say,  one  grand  tendency  of  his  Hfe  and  charac- 
ter was  to  elevate  the  whole  tone  of  the  public  mind.  He  did 
this,  indeed,  not  merely  by  example.  He  did  it  by  dealing,  as 
he  thought,  truly  and  in  manly  fashion  with  that  public  mind. 
He  evinced  his  love  of  the  people,  not  so  much  by  honeyed 
phrases  as  by  good  counsels  and  useful  service,  vera  pro 
gratis.  He  showed  how  he  appreciated  them  by  submitting 
sound  arguments  to  their  understandings,  and  right  motives  to 
their  free  will.  He  came  before  them,  less  with  flattery  than 
with  instruction ;  less  with  a  vocabulary  larded  with  the  words 
humanity  and  philanthropy,  and  progress  and  brotherhood,  than 
with  a  scheme  of  politics,  an  educational,  social,  and  govern- 
mental system,  which  would  have  made  them  prosperous,  happy, 
and  great. 

What  the  greatest  of  the  Greek  historians  said  of  Pericles, 
we  all  feel  might  be  said  of  him :  "  He  did  not  so  much  follow 
as  lead  the  people,  because  he  framed  not  his  words  to  please 
them,  like  one  who  is  gaining  power  by  unworthy  means,  but 
was  able  and  dared,  on  the  strength  of  his  high  character,  even 
to  brave  their  anger  by  contradicting  their  will." 

I  should  indicate  it  as  another  influence  of  his  life,  acts,  and 
opinions,  that  it  was,  in  an  extraordinary  degree,  uniformly  and 
liberally  conservative.  He  saw  with  vision  as  of  a  prophet,  that 
if  our  system  of  united  government  can  be  maintained  till  a 
nationality  shall  be  generated,  of  due  intensity  and  due  com- 
prehension, a  glory  indeed  millennial,  a  progress  without  end, 
a  triumph  of  humanity  hitherto  unseen,  were  ours  ;  and, 
therefore,  he  addressed  himself  to  maintain  that  united  gov- 
ernment. 

Standing  on  the  Rock  of  Plymouth,  he  bade  distant  genera- 
tions hail,  and  saw  them  rising,  "demanding  life,  impatient  for 
the  skies,"  from  what  then  were  "fresh,  unbounded,  magnificent 
wildernesses  ;  "  from  the  shore  of  the  great,  tranquil  sea,  not 
yet  become  ours.  But,  observe  to  what  he  welcomes  them  ; 
by  what  he  would  bless  them.  "  It  is  to  good  government." 
It  is  to  "treasures  of  science  and  delights  of  learning."  It  is 
to  the  "  sweets  of  domestic  life,  the  immeasurable  good  of 
rational  existence,  the  immortal  hopes  of  Christianity,  the  light 
of  everlasting  truth." 

It  w^ill  be  happy,  if  the  wisdom  and  temper  of  his  adminis- 


REMARKS  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  WEBSTER.    49 1 

tration  of  our  foreign  affairs  shall  preside  in  the  time  which  is 
at  hand.  Sobered,  instructed  by  the  examples  and  warnings 
of  all  the  past,  he  yet  gathered  from  the  study  and  comparison 
of  all  the  eras,  that  there  is  a  silent  progress  of  the  race,  — 
without  pause,  without  haste,  without  return,  —  to  which  the 
counsellings  of  history  are  to  be  accommodated  by  a  wise  phi- 
losophy. More  than,  or  as  much  as  that  of  any  of  our  pub- 
lic characters,  his  statesmanship  was  one  which  recognized  a 
Europe,  an  old  world,  but  yet  grasped  the  capital  idea  of  the 
American  position,  and  deduced  from  it  the  whole  fashion  and 
color  of  its  policy ;  which  discerned  that  we  are  to  play  a  high 
part  in  human  affairs,  but  discerned,  also,  what  part  it  is,  — 
peculiar,  distant,  distinct,  and  grand  as  our  hemisphere  ;  an 
influence,  not  a  contact,  —  the  stage,  the  drama,  the  catastro- 
phe, all  but  the  audience,  all  our  own,  —  and  if  ever  he  felt 
himself  at  a  loss,  he  consulted,  reverently,  the  genius  of 
Washing-ton. 

In  bringing  these  memories  to  a  conclusion,  —  for  I  omit 
many  things  because  I  dare  not  trust  myself  to  speak  of  them, 
—  I  shall  not  be  misunderstood,  or  give  offence,  if  I  hope  that 
one  other  trait  in  his  public  character,  one  doctrine,  rather,  of 
his  political  creed,  may  be  remembered  and  be  appreciated.  It 
is  one  of  the  two  fundamental  precepts  in  which  Plato,  as  ex- 
pounded by  the  great  master  of  Latin  eloquence  and  reason 
and  morals,  comprehends  the  duty  of  those  who  share  in  the 
conduct  of  the  state,  —  "  ut^  qucecimqiie  agunt^  totum  corpus 
reipuhlicce  curent^  nediim  partem  aliquam  tiientur,  reliquas 
deserant ;''  that  they  comprise  in  their  care  the  whole  body  of 
the  Republic,  nor  keep  one  part  and  desert  another.  He  gives 
the  reason,  —  one  reason,  —  of  the  precept,  "  qui  autem  parti 
civium  considunt,  partem  negligunt,  rem  perniciosissimam  in 
civitatem  inducunt^  seditionem  atque  discordia7n"  The  patriot- 
ism which  embraces  less  than  the  whole,  induces  sedition  and 
discord,  the  last  evil  of  the  State. 

How  profoundly  he  had  comprehended  this  truth ;  with  what 
persistency,  with  what  passion,  from  the  first  hour  he  became  a 
public  man  to  the  last  beat  of  the  great  heart,  he  cherished  it ; 
how  little  he  accounted  the  good,  the  praise,  the  blame  of  this 
locality  or  that,  in  comparison  of  the  larger  good  and  the  gen- 
eral and  thoughtful  approval  of  his  own,  and  our,  whole  Amer- 


492  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

ica,  —  she  this  day  feels  and  announces.  Wheresoever  a  drop 
of  her  hlood  flows  in  the  veins  of  men,  this  trait  is  felt  and 
appreciated.  The  hunter  beyond  Superior;  the  fisherman  on 
the  deck  of  the  nigh  nig^ht-foundered  skiff;  the  sailor  on  the 
uttermost  sea,  —  will  feel,  as  he  hears  these  tidings,  that  the 
protection  of  a  sleepless,  all-embracing,  parental  care  is  with- 
drawn from  him  for  a  space,  and  that  his  pathway  hencefor- 
ward is  more  solitary  and  less  safe  than  before. 

But  I  cannot  pursue  these  thoughts.  Among  the  eulogists 
who  have  just  uttered  the  eloquent  sorrow  of  England  at  the 
death  of  the  great  Duke,  one  has  employed  an  image  and  an 
idea  which  I  venture  to  modify  and  appropriate. 

"  The  Northmen's  image  of  death  is  finer  than  that  of  other 
climes ;  no  skeleton,  but  a  gigantic  figure  that  envelops  men 
vi^ithin  the  massive  folds  of  its  dark  garment.  Webster  seems 
so  enshrouded  from  us,  as  the  last  of  the  mighty  three,  them- 
selves following  a  mighty  series,  —  the  greatest  closing  the 
procession.     The  robe  draws  round  him,  and  the  era  is  past." 

Yet,  how  much  there  is  which  that  all-ample  fold  shall  not 
hide,  —  the  recorded  wisdom,  the  great  example,  the  assured 
immortality. 

They  speak  of  monuments  ! 

"  Nothing  can  cover  his  high  fame  but  heaven ; 
No  pyramids  set  off  his  memories 
But  the  eternal  substance  of  his  greatness; 
To  vrhich  I  leave  him." 


A    DISCOURSE     COMMEMORATIVE    OF 
DANIEL    WEBSTER: 

DELITERED  BEFORE  THE  FACULTY,  STUDENTS,  AND  ALTOINI  OF  DARTMOUTH  COLLEGE, 

JULY  27,  1853. 


It  would  be  a  strange  neglect  of  a  beautiful  and  approved 
custom  of  the  schools  of  learning,  and  of  one  of  the  most 
pious  and  appropriate  of  the  offices  of  literature,  if  the  college 
in  which  the  intellectual  life  of  Daniel  Webster  began,  and  to 
which  his  name  imparts  charm  and  illustration,  should  give  no 
formal  expression  to  her  grief  in  the  conmion  sorrow  ;  if  she 
should  not  draw  near,  of  the  most  sad,  in  the  procession  of  the 
bereaved,  to  the  tomb  at  the  sea,  nor  find,  in  all  her  classic 
shades,  one  affectionate  and  grateful  leaf  to  set  in  the  garland 
with  which  they  have  bound  the  brow  of  her  child,  the  might- 
iest departed.  Others  mourn  and  praise  him  by  his  more  dis- 
tant and  more  general  titles  to  fame  and  remembrance  ;  his 
supremacy  of  intellect,  his  statesmanship  of  so  many  years, 
his  eloquence  of  reason  and  of  the  heart,  his  love  of  country, 
incorruptible,  conscientious,  and  ruling  every  hour  and  act ; 
that  greatness  combined  of  genius,  of  character,  of  manner,  of 
place,  of  achievement,  which  was  just  now  among  us,  and  is 
not,  and  yet  lives  still  and  evermore.  You  come,  his  cherish- 
ing mother,  to  own  a  closer  tie,  to  indulge  an  emotion  more 
personal  and  more  fond,  —  grief  and  exultation  contending  for 
mastery,  as  in  the  bosom  of  the  desolated  parent,  whose  tears 
could  not  hinder  him  from  exclaiming,  "  I  would  not  exchange 
my  dead  son  for  any  living  one  of  Christendom." 

Many  places  in  our  American  world  have  spoken  his  eulogy. 
To  all  places  the  service  was  befitting,  for  "  his  renown,  is  it 
not  of   the  treasures  of   the  whole  country  ?  "      To  some  it 

VOL.  I.  42 


494^ 


LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 


belonged,  with  a  strong  local  propriety,  to  discharge  it.  In 
the  halls  of  Congress,  where  the  majestic  form  seems  ever  to 
stand,  and  the  deep  tones  to  linger,  the  decorated  scene  of  his 
larger  labors  and  most  diffusive  glory;  in  the  courts  of  law, 
to  whose  gladsome  light  he  loved  to  return, — putting  on  again 
the  robes  of  that  profession  ancient  as  magistracy,  noble  as 
virtue,  necessary  as  justice, — in  which  he  found  the  beginning 
of  his  honors ;  in  Faneuil  Hall,  whose  air  breathes  and  burns 
of  him ;  in  the  commercial  cities,  to  whose  pursuits  his  diplo- 
macy secured  a  peaceful  sea ;  in  the  cities  of  the  inland,  around 
which  his  capacious  pubHc  affections,  and  wise  discernment, 
aimed  ever  to  develop  the  uncounted  resources  of  that  other, 
and  that  larger,  and  that  newer  America ;  in  the  pulpit,  whose 
place  among  the  higher  influences  which  exalt  a  State,  our 
guide  in  life,  our  consolation  in  death,  he  appreciated  pro- 
foundly, and  vindicated  by  weightiest  argument  and  testimony, 
of  whose  offices  it  is  among  the  fittest  to  mark  and  point  the 
moral  of  the  great  things  of  the  world,  the  excellency  of  dig- 
nity, and  the  excellency  of  power  passing  away  as  the  pride  of 
the  wave,  —  passing  from  our  eye  to  take  on  immortality,  — 
in  these  places,  and  such  as  these,  there  seemed  a  reason  be- 
yond, and  other,  than  the  universal  calamity,  for  such  honors 
of  the  grave.  But  if  so,  how  fit  a  place  is  this  for  such  a 
service !  We  are  among  the  scenes  where  the  youth  of  Web- 
ster awoke  first  and  fully  to  the  life  of  the  mind.  We  stand, 
as  it  were,  at  the  sources  —  physical,  social,  moral,  intellectual 
—  of  that  exceeding  greatness.  Some  now  here  saw  that 
youth;  almost  it  was  yours,  Nilimi  parvum  videre.  Some, 
one  of  his  instructors  certainly,  some  possibly  of  his  class- 
mates, or  nearest  college  friends,  some  of  the  books  he  read, 
some  of  the  apartments  in  which  he  studied,  are  here.  We 
can  almost  call  up  from  their  habitation  in  the  past,  or  in  the 
fancy,  the  whole  spiritual  circle  which  environed  that  time  of 
his  life ;  the  opinions  he  had  embraced ;  the  theories  of  mind, 
of  religion,  of  morals,  of  philosophy,  to  which  he  had  surren- 
dered himself ;  the  canons  of  taste  and  criticism  which  he  had 
accepted ;  the  great  authors  whom  he  loved  best ;  the  trophies 
which  began  to  disturb  his  sleep ;  the  facts  of  history  which 
he  had  learned,  believed,  and  begun  to  interpret ;  the  shapes 
of  hope  and  fear  in  which  imagination  began  to  bring  before 


EULOGY   ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER.  4,95 

him  the  good  and  evil  of  the  future.  Still  the  same  outward 
world  is  around  you,  and  above  you.  The  sweet  and  solemn 
flow  of  the  river,  gleaming  through  interval  here  and  there  ; 
margins  and  samples  of  the  same  old  woods,  but  thinned  and 
retiring;  the  same  range  of  green  hills  yonder,  tolerant  of 
culture  to  the  top,  but  shaded  then  by  primeval  forests,  on 
whose  crest  the  last  rays  of  sunset  lingered ;  the  summit  of 
Ascutney ;  the  great  northern  light  that  never  sets ;  the  con- 
stellations that  walk  around,  and  watch  the  pole  ;  the  same 
nature,  undecayed,  unchanging,  is  here.  Almost,  the  idola- 
tries of  the  old  paganism  grow  intelligible.  "  Magnorum 
fliimimmi  capita  veneramm\'  exclaims  Seneca.  •  "  Suhita  et 
ex  abrupto  vasti  amnis  eruptio  aras  hahet !  "  We  stand  at 
the  fountain  of  a  stream  ;  we  stand,  rather,  at  the  place  where 
a  stream,  sudden,  and  from  hidden  springs,  bursts  to  light  j 
and  whence  we  can  follow  it  along  and  down,  as  we  might  our 
own  Connecticut,  and  trace  its  resplendent  pathway  to  the  sea ; 
and  we  venerate,  and  would  almost  build  altars  here.  If  I 
may  adopt  the  lofty  language  of  one  of  the  admirers  of  Wil- 
liam Pitt,  we  come  naturally  to  this  place,  as  if  we  could  thus 
recall  every  circumstance  of  splendid  preparation  which  con- 
tributed to  fit  the  great  man  for  the  scene  of  his  glory.  We 
come,  as  if  better  here  than  elsewhere  "  we  could  watch,  fold 
by  fold,  the  bracing  on  of  his  Vulcanian  panoply,  and  observe 
with  pleased  anxiety  the  leading  forth  of  that  chariot  which, 
borne  on  irresistible  wheels,  and  drawn  by  steeds  of  immortal 
race,  is  to  crush  the  necks  of  the  mighty,  and  sweep  away  the 
serried  strength  of  armies." 

And,  therefore,  it  were  fitter  that  I  should  ask  of  you,  than 
speak  to  you,  concerning  him.  Little,  indeed,  anywhere  can 
be  added  now  to  that  wealth  of  eulogy  that  has  been  heaped 
upon  his  tomb.  Before  he  died,  even,  renowned  in  two  hem- 
ispheres, in  ours  he  seemed  to  be  known  with  a  universal  near- 
ness of  knowledge.  He  walked  so  long  and  so  conspicuously 
before  the  general  eye  ;  his  actions,  his  opinions,  on  all  things 
which  had  been  large  enough  to  agitate  the  public  mind  for 
the  last  thirty  years  and  more,  had  had  importance  and  conse- 
quences so  remarkable,  —  anxiously  waited  for,  passionately 
canvassed,  not  adopted  always  into  the  particular  measure,  or 
deciding  the  particular  vote  of  government  or  the  country,  yet 


496  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

sinking-  deep  into  the  reason  of  the  people,  —  a  stream  of  influ- 
ence whose  fruits  it  is  yet  too  soon  for  political  philosophy  to 
appreciate  completely ;  an  impression  of  his  extraordinary 
intellectual  endowments,  and  of  their  peculiar  superiority  in 
that  most  imposing  and  intelligihle  of  all  forms  of  manifesta- 
tion, the  moving-  of  others'  minds  by  speech, —  this  impression 
had  grown  so  universal  and  fixed,  and  it  had  kindled  curiosity 
to  hear  him  and  read  him  so  wide  and  so  largely  indulged ;  his 
individuality  altogether  was  so  absolute  and  so  pronounced,  the 
force  of  will  no  less  than  the  power  of  genius ;  the  exact  type 
and  fashion  of  his  mind,  not  less  than  its  general  magnitude, 
were  so  distinctly  shown  through  his  musical  and  transparent 
style ;  the  exterior  of  the  man,  the  grand  mystery  of  brow  and 
eye,  the  deep  tones,  the  solemnity,  the  sovereignty,  as  of  those 
who  would  build  States,  where  every  power  and  every  grace 
did  seem  to  set  its  seal,  had  been  made,  by  personal  observa- 
tion, by  description,  by  the  exaggeration,  even,  of  those  who 
had  felt  the  spell,  by  art,  the  daguerrotype  and  picture  and 
statue,  so  famihar  to  the  American  eye,  graven  on  the  memory 
like  the  Washington  of  Stuart ;  the  narrative  of  the  mere  inci- 
dents of  his  life  had  been  so  often  told,  —  by  some  so  authenti- 
cally and  with  such  skill, — and  had  been  so  literally  committed 
to  heart,  that  when  he  died  there  seemed  to  be  little  left  but  to 
say  when  and  how  his  change  came ;  with  what  dignity,  with 
what  possession  of  himself,  with  what  loving  thought  for  others, 
with  what  gratitude  to  God,  uttered  with  unfaltering  voice,  that 
it  was  appointed  to  him  there  to  die ;  to  say  how  thus,  leaning  on 
the  rod  and  staff  of  the  promise,  he  took  his  way  into  the  great 
darkness  undismayed,  till  death  should  be  swallowed  up  of  life; 
and  then  to  relate  how  they  laid  him  in  that  simple  grave,  and 
turning  and  pausing,  and  joining  their  voices  to  the  voices  of 
the  sea,  bade  him  hail  and  farewell. 

And  yet,  I  hardly  know  what  there  is  in  public  biography, 
what  there  is  in  literature,  to  be  compared,  in  its  kind,  with 
the  variety  and  beauty  and  adequacy  of  the  series  of  discourses 
through  which  the  love  and  grief,  and  deliberate  and  reasoning 
admiration  of  America  for  this  great  man,  have  been  uttered. 
Little,  indeed,  there  would  be  for  me  to  say,  if  I  were  capable 
of  the  light  ambition  of  proposing  to  omit  all  which  others 


EULOGY   ON   DANIEL   WEBSTER. 


497 


have  said  on  this  theme  before,  —  little  to  add,  if  I  sought  to 
say  anything  wholly  new. 

I  have  thought,  —  perhaps  the  place  where  I  was  to  speak 
suggested  the  topic,  —  that  before  we  approach  the  ultimate 
and  historical  greatness  of  Mr.  Webster  in  its  two  chief 
departments,  and  attempt  to  appreciate  by  what  qualities  of 
genius  and  character  aud  what  succession  of  action  he  attained 
it,  there  might  be  an  interest  in  going  back  of  all  this,  so  to 
say,  and  pausing  a  few  moments  upon  his  youth.  I  include  in 
that  designation  the  period  from  his  birth,  on  the  eighteenth 
day  of  January,  1782,  until  1805,  when,  twenty-three  years 
of  age,  he  declined  the  clerkship  of  his  father's  court,  and  ded- 
icated himself  irrevocably  to  the  profession  of  the  law  and  the 
chances  of  a  summons  to  less  or  more  of  public  life.  These 
twenty-three  years  we  shall  call  tiie  youth  of  Webster.  Its  inci- 
dents are  few  and  well  known,  and  need  not  long  detain  us. 

Until  May,  1796,  beyond  the  close  of  his  fourteenth  year, 
he  lived  at  home,  attending  the  schools  of  Masters  Chase  and 
Tappan,  successively;  at  work  sometimes,  and  sometimes  at 
play  like  any  boy ;  but  finding  already,  as  few  beside  him  did, 
the  stimulations  and  the  food  of  intellectual  life  in  the  social 
library;  drinking  in,  unawares,  from  the  moral  and  physical 
aspects  about  him,  the  lesson  and  the  power  of  contention  and 
self-trust;  and  learning  how  much  grander  than  the  forest 
bending  to  the  long  storm ;  or  the  silver  and  cherishing  Mer- 
rimack swollen  to  inundation,  and  turning,  as  love  become 
madness,  to  ravage  the  subject  interval ;  or  old  woods  sul- 
lenly retiring  before  axe  and  fire  —  learning  to  feel  how  much 
grander  than  these  was  the  coming  in  of  civilization  as  there 
he  saw  it,  courage,  labor,  patience,  plain  living,  heroical  act- 
ing, high  thinking,  beautiful  feeling,  the  fear  of  God,  love  of 
country  and  neighborhood  and  family,  and  all  that  form  of 
human  life  of  w^hich  his  father  and  mother  and  sisters  and 
brother  were  the  endeared  exemplification.  In  the  arms  of 
that  circle,  on  parent  knees,  or  later,  in  intervals  of  work  or 
play,  the  future  American  Statesman  acquired  the  idea  of 
country,  and  became  conscious  of  a  national  tie  and  a  national 
life.  There  and  then,  something,  glimpses,  a  little  of  the 
romance,  the  sweet  and  bitter  memories  of  a  soldier  and  bor- 
derer of  the  old  colonial  time  and  war,  opened  to  the  large 

42* 


498 


LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 


dark  eyes  of  the  child  ;  memories  of  French  and  Indians 
steahng-  up  to  the  very  place  where  the  story  was  telling  ;  of 
men  shot  down  at  the  plough,  within  sight  of  the  old  log 
house ;  of  the  massacre  at  Fort  William  Henry ;  of  Stark, 
of  Howe,  of  Wolfe  falling  in  the  arms  of  victory ;  and  then 
of  the  next  age,  its  grander  scenes  and  higher  names, —  of  the 
father's  part  at  Bennington  and  White  Plains ;  of  Laftiyette 
and  Washington  ;  and  then  of  the  Constitution,  just  adopted, 
and  the  first  President,  just  inaugurated,  with  services  of  pub- 
lic thanksgiving  to  Almighty  God,  and  the  Union  just  sprung 
into  life,  all  radiant  as  morning,  harbinger  and  promise  of  a 
brighter  day.  You  have  heard  how  in  that  season  he  bought 
and  first  read  the  Constitution  on  the  cotton  handkerchief.  A 
small  cannon,  I  think  his  biographers  say,  was  the  ominous 
plaything  of  Napoleon's  childhood.  But  this  incident  reminds 
us  rather  of  the  youthful  Luther,  astonished  and  kindling  over 
the  first  Latin  Bible  he  ever  saw,  —  or  the  still  younger 
Pascal,  permitted  to  look  into  the  Euclid,  to  whose  sublim- 
ities an  irresistible  nature  had  secretly  attracted  him.  Long 
before  his  fourteenth  year,  the  mother  first,  and  then  the 
father,  and  the  teachers  and  the  schools  and  the  little  neigh- 
borhood, had  discovered  an  extraordinary  hope  in  the  boy  ;  a 
purpose,  a  dream,  not  yet  confessed,  of  giving  him  an  educa- 
tion began  to  be  cherished ;  and  in  May,  179^,  at  the  age  of 
a  little  more  than  fourteen,  he  was  sent  to  Exeter.  I  have 
myself  heard  a  gentleman,  long  a  leader  of  the  Essex  bar, 
and  eminent  in  public  life,  now  no  more,  who  was  then  a 
pupil  at  the  school,  describe  his  large  frame,  superb  face, 
immature  manners,  and  rustic  dress,  surmounted  with  a  stu- 
dent's gown,  when  first  he  came ;  and  say,  too,  how  soon  and 
universally  his  capacity  was  owned.  Who  does  not  wish  that 
the  glorious  Buckminster  could  have  foreseen  and  witnessed 
the  whole  greatness,  but  certainly  the  renown  of  eloquence, 
which  was  to  come  to  the  young  stranger,  whom,  choking, 
speechless,  the  great  fountain  of  feelings  sealed  as  yet,  he 
tried  in  vain  to  encourage  to  declaim  before  the  unconscious, 
bright  tribes  of  the  scliool "?  The  influences  of  Exeter  on 
him  were  excellent,  but  his  stay  was  brief.  In  the  winter  of 
1796  he  was  at  home  again  ;  and  in  February,  1797?  he  was 
placed  under  the   private  tuition,  and  in  the  family  of  Rev, 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER.         499 

Mr.  Wood,  of  Boscawen.  It  was  on  the  way  with  his  father, 
to  the  house  of  Mr.  Wood,  that  he  first  heard,  with  astonish- 
ment, that  the  parental  love  and  good  sense  had  resolved  on 
the  sacrifice  of  pivitisr  him  an  education  at  college.  '•  I  re- 
member,"  he  writes,  "  the  very  hill  we  were  ascending, 
through  deep  snows,  in  a  New  England  sleigh,  when  my 
father  made  his  purpose  known  to  me.  I  could  not  speak. 
How  could  he,  I  thought,  with  so  large  a  family,  and  in 
such  narrow  circumstances,  think  of  incurring  so  great  an 
expense  for  me  ^  A  warm  glow  ran  all  over  me,  and  I  laid 
my  head  on  my  father's  shoulder  and  wept."  That  speech- 
lessness, that  glow,  those  tears  reveal  to  us  what  his  memory 
and  consciousness  could  hardly  do  to  him,  that  already,  some- 
where, at  some  hour  of  day  or  evening  or  night,  as  he  read 
some  page,  or  heard  some  narrative,  or  saw  some  happier 
schoolfellow  set  off'  from  Exeter  to  begin  his  college  life,  the 
love  of  intellectual  enjoyment,  the  ambition  of  intellectual 
supremacy,  had  taken  hold  of  him  ;  that,  when  or  how  he 
knew  not,  but  before  he  was  aware  of  it,  the  hope  of  ob- 
taining a  liberal  education  and  leading  a  professional  life  had 
come  to  be  his  last  thought  before  he  slept,  his  first  when 
he  awoke,  and  to  shape  his  dreams.  Behold  in  them,  too, 
his  whole  future.  That  day,  that  hour,  that  very  moment, 
from  the  deep  snows  of  that  slow  hill  he  set  out  on  the  long 
ascent  that  bore  him  —  "  no  step  backward  "  —  to  the  high 
places  of  the  world  !  He  remained  under  the  tuition  of  Mr. 
Wood  until  August,  1796,  and  then  entered  this  college, 
where  he  was,  at  the  end  of  the  full  term  of  four  years,  grad- 
uated in  1801.  Of  that  college  life  you  can  tell  me  more 
than  I  can  tell  you.  It  is  the  universal  evidence  that  it  was 
distinguished  by  exemplary  demeanor,  by  reverence  for  re- 
ligion, respect  for  instructors,  and  observance  of  law.  We 
hear  from  all  sources,  too,  that  it  was  distinguished  by  assid- 
uous and  various  studies.  With  the  exception  of  one  or  two 
branches,  for  which  his  imperfect  preparation  had  failed  to  ex- 
cite a  taste,  he  is  reported  to  have  addressed  himself  to  the 
prescribed  tasks,  and  to  have  availed  himself  of  the  whole 
body  of  means  of  liberal  culture  appointed  by  the  government, 
with  decorum  and  conscientiousness  and  zeal.  We  hear  more 
than  this.     The  whole  course  of  traditions  concerning  his  col- 


500  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

lege  life  is  full  to  prove  two  facts.  The  first  is,  that  his  read- 
ing —  general  and  various  far  beyond  the  requirements  of  the 
Faculty,  or  the  average  capacity  of  that  stage  of  the  literary 
life  — was  not  solid  and  useful  merely —  which  is  vague  com-  ^ 
mendation  —  but  it  was  such  as  predicted  and  educated  the 
future  statesman.  In  English  literature,  —  its  finer  parts, 
its  poetry  and  tasteful  reading,  I  mean,  —  he  had  read  much 
rather  than  many  things ;  but  he  had  read  somewhat.  That 
a  young  man  of  his  emotional  nature,  —  full  of  eloquent  feel- 
ing, the  germs  of  a  fine  taste,  the  ear  for  the  music  of  words, 
the  eye  for  all  beauty  and  all  sublimity,  already  in  extraordi- 
nary measure  his, —  already  practising  the  art  of  composition, 
speech,  and  criticism,  —  should  have  recreated  himself — as 
we  know  he  did — with  Shakspeare  and  Pope  and  Addison; 
with  the  great  romance  of  Defoe  ;  with  the  more  recent  biog- 
raphies of  Johnson,  and  his  grand  imitations  of  Juvenal; 
with  the  sweet  and  refined  simplicity  and  abstracted  observa- 
tion of  Goldsmith,  mingled  with  sketches  of  homefelt  delight ; 
with  the  "  Elegy  "  of  Gray,  whose  solemn  touches  soothed  the 
thoughts  or  tested  the  consciousness  of  the  last  hour  ;  with 
the  vigorous  originality  of  the  then  recent  Cowper,  whom  he 
quoted  when  he  came  home,  as  it  proved,  to  die,  —  this  we 
should  have  expected.  But  I  have  heard,  and  believe,  that  it 
was  to  another  institution  more  austere  and  characteristic,  that 
his  own  mind  was  irresistibly  and  instinctively  even  then  at- 
tracted. The  conduct  of  what  Locke  calls  the  human  under- 
standing ;  the  limits  of  human  knowledge ;  the  means  of 
coming  to  the  knowledge  of  the  diflferent  classes  of  truth ;  the 
laws  of  thought ;  the  science  of  proofs  which  is  logic ;  the 
science  of  morals ;  the  facts  of  history ;  the  spirit  of  laws ; 
the  conduct  and  aims  of  reasonings  in  politics,  —  these  were 
the  strong  meat  that  announced  and  began  to  train  the  great 
political  thinker  and  reasoner  of  a  later  day. 

I  have  heard  that  he  might  oftener  be  found  in  some  sol- 
itary seat  or  walk,  with  a  volume  of  Gordon's  or  Ramsay's 
Revolution,  or  of  the  "  Federalist,"  or  of  Hume's  "  History 
of  England,"  or  of  his  "  Essays,"  or  of  Grotius,  or  Puffen- 
dorf,  or  Cicero,  or  Montesquieu,  or  Locke,  or  Burke,  than 
with  Virgil,  or  Shakspeare,  or  the  "  Spectator."  Of  the 
history  of  opinions,  in  the  department  of  philosophy,  he  was 


EULOGY  ON   DANIEL   WEBSTER.  501 

already  a  curious  student.  The  oration  he  delivered  before 
the  United  Fraternity,  when  he  was  graduated,  treated  that 
topic  of  opinion,  under  some  aspects,  —  as  1  recollect  from 
once  reading  the  manuscript,  —  with  copiousness,  judgment, 
and  enthusiasm  ;  and  some  of  his  ridicule  of  the  Berkleian 
theory  of  the  non-existence  of  matter,  I  well  remember,  an- 
ticipated the  sarcasm  of  a  later  day  on  a  currency  all  metal- 
lic, and  on  nullification  as  a  strictly  constitutional  remedy. 

The  other  fact,  as  well  established  by  all  we  can  gather  of  his 
life  in  college  is,  that  the  faculty,  so  transcendent  afterwards, 
of  moving  the  minds  of  men  by  speech,  was  already  developed 
and  effective  in  a  remarkable  degree.  Always  there  is  a  best 
WTiter  or  speaker  or  two  in  college ;  but  this  stereotyped  des- 
ignation seems  wholly  inadequate  to  convey  the  impression  he 
made  in  his  time.  Many,  now  alive,  have  said  that  some  of 
his  performances,  having  regard  to  his  youth,  his  objects,  his 
topics,  his  audience  —  one  on  the  celebration  of  Independence, 
one  a  eulogy  on  a  student  much  beloved  —  produced  an  instant 
effect,  and  left  a  recollection  to  which  nothing  else  could  be  com- 
pared ;  which  could  be  felt  and  admitted  only,  not  explained ; 
but  which  now  they  know  were  the  first  sweet  tones  of  inex- 
plicable but  delightful  influence  of  that  voice,  unconfirmed 
as  yet,  and  unassured,  whose  more  consummate  expression 
charmed  and  suspended  the  soul  of  a  nation.  To  read  these 
essays  now,  disappoints  you  somewhat.  As  Quintilian  says 
of  Hortensius,  Apjmret  placuisse  aliquid  eo  dicente  quod  legen- 
tes  non  invenimus.  Some  spell  there  was  in  the  spoken  word 
which  the  reader  misses.  To  find  the  secret  of  that  spell,  you 
must  recall  the  youth  of  Webster.  Beloved  fondly,  and  appre- 
ciated by  that  circle  as  much  as  by  any  audience,  larger,  more 
exacting,  more  various,  and  more  fit,  which  afterwards  he  found 
anywhere  ;  known  to  be  manly,  just,  pure,  generous,  affec- 
tionate ;  known  and  felt  by  his  strong  will,  his  high  aims,  his 
commanding  character,  his  uncommon  and  difficult  studies  ; 
he  had  every  heart's  warmest  good  wish  with  him  when  he 
rose  ;  and  then,  when,  unchecked  by  any  very  severe  theory  of 
taste,  unoppressed  by  any  dread  of  saying  something  incom- 
patible with  his  place  and  fame,  or  unequal  to  himself,  he  just 
unlocked  the  deep  spring  of  that  eloquent  feeling,  which,  in 
connection  with  his  power  of  mere  intellect,  was  such  a  stu- 


50£  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

pendous  psychological  mystery,  and  gave  heart  and  soul,  not 
to  the  conduct  of  an  argument,  or  the  investigation  and  dis- 
play of  a  truth  of  the  reason,  but  to  a  fervid,  beautiful,  and 
prolonged  emotion,  to  grief,  to  eulogy,  to  the  patriotism  of 
scholars  —  why  need  we  doubt  or  wonder,  as  they  looked  on 
that  presiding  brow,  the  eye  large,  sad,  unworldly,  incapable  to 
be  fathomed,  the  lip  and  chin,  whose  firmness  as  of  chiselled, 
perfect  marble,  profoundest  sensibility  alone  caused  ever  to 
tremble,  why  wonder  at  the  traditions  of  the  charm  which  they 
owned,  and  the  fame  which  they  even  then  predicted? 

His  college  life  closed  in  1801.  For  the  statement  that  he 
had  thought  of  selecting  the  profession  of  theology,  the  sur- 
viving members  of  his  family,  his  son  and  his  brother-in-law, 
assure  me  that  there  is  no  foundation.  Certainly,  he  began 
at  once  the  study  of  the  law,  and  interrupted  only  by  the  neces- 
sity of  teaching  an  academy  a  few  months,  with  which  he 
united  the  recreation  of  recording  deeds,  he  prosecuted  it  at 
Salisbury  in  the  office  of  Mr.  Thompson,  and  at  Boston  in  the 
office  of  Mr.  Gore,  until  March,  1805,  when,  resisting  the 
sharp  temptation  of  a  clerkship,  and  an  annual  salary  of  fifteen 
hundred  dollars,  he  was  admitted  to  the  bar. 

And  so  he  has  put  on  the  robe  of  manhood,  and  has  come 
to  do  the  work  of  life.  Of  his  youth  there  is  no  need  to  say 
more.  It  had  been  pure,  happy,  strenuous ;  in  many  things 
privileged.  The  influence  of  home,  of  his  father,  and  the  ex- 
cellent mother,  and  that  noble  brother,  whom  he  loved  so  dearly, 
and  mourned  with  such  sorrow  —  these  influences  on  his  heart, 
principles,  will,  aims,  were  elevated  and  strong.  At  an  early 
age,  comparatively,  the  then  great  distinction  of  liberal  educa- 
tion was  his.  His  college  life  was  brilliant  and  without  a 
stain;  and  in  moving  his  admission  to  the  bar,  Mr.  Gore  pre- 
sented him  as  one  of  extraordinary  promise. 

"  With  prospects  bright,  upon  the  world  he  came,  — 
Pure  love  of  virtue,  strong  desire  of  fame  ; 
Men  watched  the  way  his  lofty  mind  would  take, 
And  all  foretold  the  progress  he  would  make." 

And  yet,  if  on  some  day,  as  that  season  was  drawing  to  its  close, 
it  had  been  foretold  to  him,  that  before  his  life,  prolonged  to 
little  more  than  threescore  years  and  ten,  should  end,  he  should 
see  that  country,  in  which   he  was  coming  to  act  his  part, 


EULOGY   ON   DANIEL   WEBSTER.  503 

expanded  across  a  continent;  the  thirteen  States  of  1801 
multiplied  to  thirty-one ;  the  territory  of  the  North-west  and 
the  great  valley  below  sown  full  of  those  stars  of  empire ;  the 
Mississippi  forded,  and  the  Sabine  and  Rio  Grande,  and  the 
Neuces  ;  the  ponderous  gates  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  opened 
to  shut  no  more ;  the  great  tranquil  sea  become  our  sea  ;  her 
area  seven  times  larger,  her  people  five  times  more  in  number ; 
that  through  all  experiences  of  trial,  the  madness  of  party,  the 
injustice  of  foreign  powers,  the  vast  enlargement  of  her  bor- 
ders, the  antagonisms  of  interior  interest  and  feeling,  —  the 
spirit  of  nationality  would  grow  stronger  still  and  more  plas- 
tic ;  that  the  tide  of  American  feeling  would  run  ever  fuller  ; 
that  her  agriculture  would  grow  more  scientific ;  her  arts  more 
various  and  instructed,  and  better  rewarded  ;  her  commerce 
winged  to  a  wider  and  still  wider  flight ;  that  the  part  she 
would  play  in  human  affairs  would  grow  nobler  ever,  and  more 
recognized  ;  that  in  this  vast  growth  of  national  greatness 
time  would  be  found  for  the  higher  necessities  of  the  soul ; 
that  her  popular  and  her  higher  education  would  go  on  advan- 
cing ;  that  her  charities  and  all  her  enterprises  of  philanthropy 
would  go  on  enlarging ;  that  her  age  of  lettered  glory  should 
find  its  auspicious  dawn  —  and  then  it  had  been  also  foretold 
him  that  even  so,  with  her  growth  and  strength,  should  his 
fame  grow  and  be  established  and  cherished,  there  where  she 
should  garner  up  her  heart ;  that  by  long  gradations  of  service 
and  labor  he  should  rise  to  be,  before  he  should  taste  of  death, 
of  the  peerless  among  her  great  ones ;  that  he  should  win  the 
double  honor,  and  wear  the  double  wreath  of  professional  and 
public  supremacy ;  that  he  should  become  her  wisest  to  counsel 
and  her  most  eloquent  to  persuade ;  that  he  should  come  to  be 
called  the  Defender  of  the  Constitution  and  the  preserver  of 
honorable  peace  ;  that  the  "  austere  glory  of  suffering  "  to  save 
the  Union  should  be  his  ;  that  his  death,  at  the  summit  of  great- 
ness, on  the  verge  of  a  ripe  and  venerable  age,  should  be  dis- 
tinguished, less  by  the  flags  at  half-mast  on  ocean  and  lake, 
less  by  the  minute-gun,  less  by  the  public  procession  and  the  ap- 
pointed eulogy,  than  by  sudden  paleness  overspreading  all  faces, 
by  gushing  tears,  by  sorrow,  thoughtful,  boding,  silent,  the 
sense  of  desolateness,  as  if  renown  and  grace  were  dead,  —  as 
if  the  hunter's  path,  and  the  sailor's,  in  the  great  solitude  of 


504  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES. 

wilderness  or  sea,  henceforward  were  more  lonely  and  less  safe 
than  before  —  had  tliis  prediction  been  whispered,  how  calmly- 
had  that  perfect  sobriety  of  mind  put  it  all  aside  as  a  perni- 
cious or  idle  dream  !  Yet,  in  the  fulfilment  of  that  prediction 
is  told  the  remaining  story  of  his  life. 

It  does  not  come  within  the  plan  which  I  have  marked  out 
for  this  discourse  to  repeat  the  incidents  of  that  subsequent 
history.  The  more  conspicuous  are  known  to  you  and  the 
whole  American  world.  Minuter  details  the  time  does  not 
permit,  nor  the  occasion  require.  Some  quite  general  views  of 
what  he  became  and  achieved  ;  some  attempt  to  appreciate  that 
intellectual  power,  and  force  of  will,  and  elaborate  culture,  and 
that  power  of  eloquence,  so  splendid  and  remarkable,  by  which 
he  wrought  his  work  ;  some  tribute  to  the  endearing  and  noble 
parts  of  his  character ;  and  some  attempt  to  vindicate  the  po- 
litical morality  by  which  his  public  life  was  guided,  even  to  its 
last  great  act,  are  all  that  I  propose,  and  much  more  than  I 
can  hope  worthily  to  accoriiplish. 

In  coming,  then,  to  consider  what  he  became  and  achieved, 
I  have  always  thought  it  was  not  easy  to  lay  too  much  stress, 
in  the  first  place,  on  that  realization  of  what  might  have  been 
regarded  incompatible  forms  of  superiority,  and  that  exempli- 
fication of  what  might  have  been  regarded  incompatible  gifts  or 
acquirements — "rare  in  their  separate  excellence,  wonderful  in 
their  special  combination  "  —  which  meet  us  in  him  everywhere. 
Remark,  first,  that  eminence  —  rare,  if  not  unprecedented  — 
of  the  first  rate,  in  the  two  substantially  distinct  and  unkindred 
professions,  —  that  of  the  law,  and  that  of  public  life.  In  sur- 
veying that  ultimate  and  finished  greatness  in  which  he  stands 
before  you  in  his  full  stature  and  at  his  best,  this  double  and 
blended  eminence  is  the  first  thing  that  fixes  the  eye,  and  the 
last.  When  he  died  he  was  first  of  American  lawyers,  and  first 
of  American  statesmen.  In  both  characters  he  continued  — 
discharging  the  foremost  part  in  each — down  to  the  falling  of 
the  awful  curtain.  Both  characters  he  kept  distinct, — the 
habits  of  mind,  the  forms  of  reasoning,  the  nature  of  the  proofs, 
the  style  of  eloquence.  Neither  hurt  nor  changed  the  other. 
How  much  his  understanding  was  "  quickened  and  invigo- 
rated "  by  the  law,  I  have  often  heard  him  acknowledge  and 
explain.     But  how,  in   spite  of  the  law,   was  that  mind,  by 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER.         505 

Other  felicity,  and  other  culture,  "  opened  and  liheralized  " 
also  !  How  few  of  what  are  called  the  had  intellectual  hahits 
of  the  bar  he  carried  into  the  duties  of  statesmanship  !  His 
interpretations  of  the  constitution  and  of  treaties  ;  his  exposi- 
tions of  pubhc  law  —  how  little  do  you  find  in  them,  where,  if 
anywhere,  you  would  expect  it,  of  the  mere  ingenuity,  the 
moving  of  "  verniicidate  questions,"  the  word-catching,  the 
scholastic  subtlety  which,  in  the  phrase  of  his  memorable  quo- 
tation, 

"  Can  sever  and  divide 
A  hair  'twixt  north  and  north-west  side,"  — 

ascribed  by  satire  to  the  profession  ;  and  how  much  of  its 
truer  function,  and  nobler  power  of  calling,  history,  language, 
the  moral  sentiments,  reason,  common  sense,  the  high  spirit  of 
magnanimous  nationality,  to  the  search  of  truth  !  How  little 
do  we  find  in  his  politics  of  another  bad  habit  of  the  profes- 
sion, the  worst  "  idol  of  the  cave,"  a  morbid,  unreasoning,  and 
regretful  passion  for  the  past,  that  bends  and  weeps  over  the 
stream,  running  irreversiltly,  because  it  will  not  return,  and 
will  not  pause,  and  gives  back  to  vanity  every  hour  a  changed 
and  less  beautiful  fiice  !  We  ascribe  to  him  certainly  a  sober 
and  conservative  habit  of  mind,  and  such  he  had.  Such  a 
habit  the  study  and  practice  of  the  law  doubtless  does  not  im- 
pair. But  his  was  my  Lord  Bacon's  conservatism.  He  held 
with  him,  "  that  antiquity  deserveth  this  reverence,  that  men 
should  make  a  stand  thereupon,  and  discover  what  is  the  best 
way  ;  but  when  the  discovery  is  well  taken,  then  to  make  pro- 
gression." He  would  keep  the  Union  according  to  the  Con- 
stitution, not  as  a  relic,  a  memorial,  a  tradition,  —  not  for  what 
it  has  done,  though  that  kindled  his  gratitude  and  excited  his 
admiration,  but  for  what  it  is  now  and  hereafter  to  do, 
when  adapted  by  a  wise  practical  philosophy  to  a  wider  and 
higher  area,  to  larger  numbers,  to  severer  and  more  glorious 
probation.  Who  better  than  he  has  grasped  and  displayed  the 
advancing  tendencies  and  enlarging  duties  of  America  ^  Who 
has  caught  —  whose  eloquence,  whose  genius,  whose  counsels, 
have  caught  more  adequately  the  genuine  inspiration  of  our 
destiny  \  Who  has  better  expounded  by  what  moral  and  pru- 
dential policy,  by  what  improved  culture  of  heart  and  reason, 

VOL.   I.  43 


506  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

by  what  true  worship  of  God,  by  what  good  faith  to  all  other 
nations,  the  dangers  of  that  destiny  may  be  disarmed,  and  its 
large  promise  laid  hold  on  1 

And  while  the  lawyer  did  not  hurt  the  statesman,  the  states- 
man did  not  hurt  the  lawyer.  More ;  the  statesman  did  not  mod- 
ify, did  not  unrobe,  did  not  tinge,  the  lawyer.  It  would  not  be 
to  him  that  the  epigram  could  have  application,  where  the  old 
Latin  satirist  makes  the  client  complain  that  his  lawsuit  is  con- 
cerning t7'es  capellce  —  three  kids ;  and  that  his  advocate  with 
large  disdain  of  them  is  haranguing  with  loud  voice  and  both 
hands,  about  the  slaughters  of  Cannte,  the  war  of  Mithridates, 
the  perjuries  of  Hannibal.  I  could  never  detect  that  in  his  dis- 
cussions of  law  he  did  not  just  as  much  recognize  authority, 
just  as  anxiously  seek  for  adjudications  old  and  new  in  his 
favor,  just  as  closely  sift  them  and  collate  them,  that  he  might 
bring  them  to  his  side  if  he  could,  or  leave  them  ambiguous 
and  harmless  if  he  could  not ;  that  he  did  not  just  as  rigor- 
ously observe  the  peculiar  mode  which  that  science  employs  in 
passing  from  the  known  to  the  unknown,  the  peculiar  logic  of 
the  law,  as  if  he  had  never  investigated  any  other  than  legal 
truth  by  any  other  organon  than  legal  logic  in  his  life.  Pecu- 
liarities of  legal  reasoning  he  certainly  had,  belonging  to  the 
peculiar  structure  and  vast  power  of  his  mind ;  more  original 
thought,  more  discourse  of  principles,  less  of  that  mere  sub- 
tlety of  analysis  which  is  not  restrained  by  good  sense,  and 
the  higher  power  of  duly  tempering  and  combining  one  truth 
in  a  practical  science  with  other  truths,  from  absurdity  or  mis- 
chief; but  still  it  was  all  strict  and  exact  legal  reasoning.  The 
long  habit  of  employing  the  more  popular  methods,  the  proba- 
ble and  plausible  conjectures,  the  approximations,  the  compro- 
mises of  deliberative  discussion,  did  not  seem  to  have  left  the 
least  trace  on  his  vocabulary,  or  his  reasonings,  or  his  demeanor. 
No  doubt,  as  a  part  of  his  whole  culture,  it  helped  to  give  en- 
largement and  general  power  and  elevation  of  mind ;  but  the 
sweet  stream  passed  under  the  bitter  sea,  the  bitter  sea  pressed 
on  the  sweet  stream,  and  each  flowed  unmingled,  unchanged  in 
taste  or  color. 

I  have  said  that  this  double  eminence  is  rare,  if  not  unprece- 
dented. We  do  no  justice  to  Mr.  Webster,  if  we  do  not  keep 
this  ever  in  mind.     How  many  exemplifications  of  it  do  you 


EULOGY   ON  DANIEL   WEBSTER. 


507 


find  in  British  public  life  ?  The  Earl  of  Chatham,  Burke, 
Fox,  Sheridan,  Windham,  Pitt,  Grattan,  Canning,  Peel  — 
were  they  also,  or  any  one,  the  acknowledged  leader  in  West- 
minster Hall  or  on  the  circuit?  And,  on  the  other  hand, 
would  you  say  that  the  mere  parliamentary  career  of  Mans- 
field, or  Thurlow,  or  Dunning,  or  Erskine,  or  Camden,  or 
Curran,  would  compare  in  duration,  constancy,  variety  of 
effort,  the  range  of  topics  discussed,  the  fulness,  extent,  and 
affluence  of  the  discussion,  the  influence  exerted,  the  space 
filled,  the  senatorial  character  completely  realized  —  with  his  1 
In  our  own  ]}ublic  life  it  is  easier  to  find  a  parallel.  Great 
names  crowd  on  us  in  each  department ;  greater,  or  more 
loved,  or  more  venerable,  no  annals  can  show.  But  how  few 
even  here  have  gathered  the  double  wreath  and  the  blended 
fame  ! 

And  now,  having  observed  the  fact  of  this  combination  of 
quality  and  excellence  scarcely  compatible,  inspect  for  a  mo- 
ment each  by  itself. 

The  professional  life  of  Mr.  Webster  began  in  the  spring 
of  1805.  It  may  not  be  said  to  have  ended  until  he  died;  but 
I  do  not  know  that  it  happened  to  him  to  appear  in  court,  for 
the  trial  of  a  cause,  after  his  argument  of  the  Goodyear  patent 
for  improvements  in  the  preparation  of  India-rubber,  in  Tren- 
ton, in  March,  185;^. 

There  I  saw,  and  last  heard  him.  The  thirty-four  years 
which  had  elapsed  since,  a  member  of  this  College,  at  home 
for  health,  I  first  saw  and  heard  him  in  the  Supreme  Court 
of  Massachusetts,  in  the  county  of  Essex,  defending  Jackman, 
accused  of  the  robbery  of  Goodrich,  had  in  almost  all  things 
changed  him.  The  raven  hair,  the  vigorous,  full  frame  and 
firm  tread,  the  eminent  but  severe  beauty  of  the  countenance, 
not  yet  sealed  w^ith  the  middle  age  of  man,  the  exuberant  dem- 
onstration of  all  sorts  of  power,  which  so  marked  him  at  first 
—  for  these,  as  once  they  were,  I  explored  in  vain.  Yet  how 
far  higher  was  the  interest  that  attended  him  now :  his  sixty- 
nine  years  robed,  as  it  were,  with  honor  and  with  love,  with 
associations  of  great  service  done  to  the  state,  and  of  great 
fame  gathered  and  safe  ;  and  then  the  perfect  mastery  of  the 
cause  in  its  legal  and  scientific  principles,  and  in  all  its  facts  ; 
the  admirable  clearness  and  order  in  which  his  propositions 


508  LECTURES    AND   ADDRESSES. 

were  advanced  successively ;  the  power,  the  occasional  high 
ethical  tone,  the  appropriate  eloquence,  by  which  they  were 
made  probable  and  persuasive  to  the  judicial  reason — these 
announced  the  leader  of  the  American  bar,  with  every  faculty 
and  every  accomplishment,  by  which  he  had  won  that  proud 
title,  wholly  unimpaired  ;  the  eye  not  dim  nor  the  natural 
force  abated. 

I  cannot  here  and  now  trace,  with  any  minuteness,  the 
course  of  Mr.  Webster  at  the  bar  during  these  forty-eight 
years  from  the  opening  of  his  office  in  Boscawen  ;  nor  convey 
any  impression  whatever  of  the  aggregate  of  labor  which  that 
course  imposed ;  or  of  the  intellectual  power  which  it  exacted ; 
nor  indicate  the  stages  of  his  rise  ;  nor  define  the  time  when 
his  position  at  the  summit  of  the  profession  may  be  said  to 
have  become  completely  vindicated.  You  know,  in  general, 
that  he  began  the  practice  of  the  law  in  New  Hampshire  in 
the  spring  of  1805 ;  that  he  prosecuted  it,  here,  in  its  severest 
school,  with  great  diligence,  and  brilliant  success,  among  com- 
petitors of  larger  experience  and  of  consummate  ability,  until 
1816  :  that  he  then  removed  to  Massachusetts,  and  that  there, 
in  the  courts  of  that  State,  and  of  other  States,  and  in  those  of 
the  general  government,  and  especially  in  the  Supreme  Court 
sitting  at  Washington,  he  pursued  it  as  the  calling  by  which  he 
was  to  earn  his  daily  bread,  until  he  died.  You  know,  indeed, 
that  he  did  not  pursue  it  exactly  as  one  pursues  it  who  confines 
himself  to  an  office  ;  and  seeks  to  do  the  current  and  miscel- 
laneous business  of  a  single  bar.  His  professional  employ- 
ment, as  I  have  often  heard  him  say,  was  very  much  the  prep- 
aration of  opinions  on  important  questions,  presented  from 
every  part  of  the  country  ;  and  the  trial  of  causes.  This  kind 
of  professional  life  allowed  him  seasonable  vacations  ;  and  it 
accommodated  itself  somewhat  to  the  exactions  of  his  other  and 
public  life.  But  it  was  all  one  long  and  continued  practice  of 
the  law;  the  professional  character  was  never  put  off";  nor  the 
professional  robe  long  unworn  to  the  last. 

You  know,  too,  his  character  as  a  jurist.  This  topic  has 
been  recently  and  separately  treated,  with  great  ability,  by  one 
in  a  high  degree  competent  to  the  task, — the  late  learned  Chief 
Justice  of  New  Hampshire,  now  Professor  of  Law  at  Cam- 
bridge ;  and  it  needs  no  additional  illustration  from  me.     Yet, 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER.         509 

let  me  say,  that  herein,  also,  the  first  thing  which  strikes  you 
is  the  union  of  diverse,  and,  as  I  have  said,  what  might  have 
heen  regarded  incompatible  excellences.  I  shall  submit  it  to 
the  judgment  of  the  universal  American  bar,  if  a  carefully  pre- 
pared opinion  of  Mr.  Webster,  on  any  question  of  law  what- 
ever in  the  whole  range  of  our  jurisprudence,  would  not  be 
accepted  everywhere  as  of  the  most  commanding  autliority, 
and  as  the  highest  evidence  of  legal  truth  ?  I  submit  it  to 
that  same  judgment,  if  for  many  years  before  his  death,  they 
would  not  have  rather  chosen  to  intrust  the  maintenance  and 
enforcement  of  any  important  proposition  of  law  whatever,  be- 
fore any  legal  tribunal  of  character  whatever,  to  his  best  exer- 
tion of  his  faculties,  than  to  any  other  ability  which  the  whole 
wealth  of  the  profession  could  supply  ? 

And  this  alone  completes  the  description  of  a  lawyer  and  a 
forensic  orator  of  the  first  rate  ;  but  it  does  not  complete  the 
description  of  his  professional  character.  By  the  side  of  all 
this,  so  to  speak,  there  was  that  whole  class  of  qualities  which 
made  him  for  any  description  of  trial  by  jury  whatever,  crimi- 
nal or  civil,  by  even  a  more  universal  assent,  foremost.  For 
that  form  of  trial  no  faculty  was  unused  or  needless  ;  but  you 
were  most  struck  there  to  see  the  unrivalled  legal  reason  put 
off,  as  it  were,  and  reappear  in  the  form  of  a  robust  common 
sense  and  eloquent  feeling,  applying  itself  to  an  exciting  sub- 
ject of  business ;  to  see  the  knowledge  of  men  and  life  by 
which  the  falsehood  and  veracity  of  witnesses,  the  probabilities 
and  improbabilities  of  transactions  as  sworn  to,  were  discerned 
in  a  moment ;  the  direct,  plain,  forcible  speech  ;  the  consum- 
mate narrative,  a  department  which  he  had  particularly  culti- 
vated, and  in  which  no  man  ever  excelled  him  ;  the  easy  and 
perfect  analysis  by  which  he  conveyed  his  side  of  the  cause  to 
the  mind  of  the  jury;  the  occasional  gush  of  strong  feeling, 
indignation,  or  pity  ;  the  masterly,  yet  natural  way,  in  which 
all  the  moral  emotions  of  which  his  cause  was  susceptible  were 
called  to  use,  the  occasional  sovereignty  of  dictation  to  which 
his  convictions  seemed  spontaneously  to  rise.  His  efforts  in 
trials  by  jury  compose  a  more  traditional  and  evanescent  part 
of  his  professional  reputation  than  his  arguments  on  questions 
of  law  ;  but  I  almost  think  they  were  his  mightiest  profession- 
al displays,  or  displays  of  any  kind,  after  all. 

43* 


510  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

One  such  I  stood  in  a  relation  to  witness  with  a  compara- 
tively easy  curiosity,  and  yet  with  intimate  and  professional 
knowledge  of  all  the  embarrassments  of  the  case.  It  was  the 
trial  of  John  Francis  Knapp,  charged  with  being  present,  aid- 
ing, and  abetting  in  the  murder  of  Joseph  White,  in  which 
Mr.  Webster  conducted  the  prosecution  for  the  Common- 
wealth,— in  the  same  year  with  his  reply  to  Mr.  Hayne,  in  the 
Senate  and  a  few  months  later,  —  and  when  I  bring  to  mind 
the  incidents  of  that  trial  ;  the  necessity  of  proving  that  the 
prisoner  was  near  enough  to  the  chamber  in  which  the  murder 
was  being  committed  by  another  hand  to  aid  in  the  act,  and 
was  there  with  the  intention  to  do  so,  and  thus  in  point  of  law 
did  aid  in  it  —  because  mere  accessorial  guilt  was  not  enough 
to  convict  him  ;  the  difficulty  of  proving  this  —  because  the 
nearest  point  to  which  the  evidence  could  trace  him  was  still 
so  distant  as  to  warrant  a  pretty  formidable  doubt  whether 
mere  curiosity  had  not  carried  him  thither ;  and  whether  he 
could  in  any  useful  or  even  conceivable  manner  have  coop- 
erated with  the  actual  murderer,  if  he  had  intended  to  do  so  ; 
and  because  the  only  mode  of  rendering  it  probable  that  he 
was  there  with  a  purpose  of  guilt  was  by  showing  that  he  was 
one  of  the  parties  to  a  conspiracy  of  murder,  whose  very  ex- 
istence, actors,  and  objects,  had  to  be  made  out  by  the  collation 
of  the  widest  possible  range  of  circumstances  —  some  of  them 
pretty  loose ;  and  even  if  he  was  a  conspirator,  it  did  not  quite 
necessarily  follow  that  any  active  participation  was  assigned  to 
him  for  his  part,  any  more  than  to  his  brother,  who,  confessed- 
ly took  no  such  part  —  the  great  number  of  witnesses  to  be 
examined  and  cross-examined,  a  duty  devolving  wholly  on 
him  ;  the  quick  and  sound  judgment  demanded  and  supplied 
to  determine  what  to  use  and  what  to  reject  of  a  mass  of 
rather  unmanageable  materials ;  the  points  in  the  law  of  evi- 
dence to  be  argued  —  in  the  course  of  which  he  made  an  ap- 
peal to  the  Bench  on  the  complete  impunity  which  the  rejection 
of  the  prisoner's  confession  would  give  to  the  murder,  in  a 
style  of  dignity  and  energy,  I  should  rather  say  of  grandeur, 
which  I  never  heard  him  equal  before  or  after  ;  the  high 
ability  and  fidelity  with  which  every  part  of  the  defence  was 
conducted ;  and  the  great  final  summing  up  to  which  he 
brought,  and  in  which  he  needed,  the  utmost  exertion  of  every 


EULOGY   ON   DANIEL   WEBSTER.  511 

faculty  he  possessed  to  persuade  the  jury  that  the  ohhgatiou  of 
that  duty  the  sense  of  which,  he  said,  "  pursued  us  ever  :  it  is 
omnipresent  Hke  the  Deity :  if  we  take  the  wings  of  tlie  morn- 
ing and  du^ell  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  sea,  duty  performed 
or  duty  viohited  is  still  with  us  for  our  happiness  or  mis- 
ery" —  to  persuade  them  that  this  obligation  demanded  that 
on  his  proofs  they  should  convict  the  prisoner  :  to  wdiich  he 
brought  first  the  profound  belief  of  his  guilt,  without  which 
he  could  not  have  prosecuted  him  ;  then  skill  consummate  in 
inspiring  them  with  a  desire  or  a  willingness  to  be  instrumen- 
tal in  detecting  that  guilt ;  and  to  lean  on  him  in  the  effort  to 
detect  it ;  then  every  resource  of  professional  ability  to  break 
the  force  of  the  propositions  of  the  defence,  and  to  establish 
the  truth  of  his  own :  inferring  a  conspiracy  to  which  the 
prisoner  was  a  party,  from  circumstances  acutely  ridiculed 
by  the  able  counsel  opposing  him  as  "  Stuff""  —  but  w^oven  by 
him  into  strong  and  uniform  tissue  ;  and  then  bridging  over 
from  the  conspiracy  to  the  not  very  necessary  inference  that 
the  particular  conspirator  on  trial  was  at  his  post,  in  execution 
of  it,  to  aid  and  abet — the  picture  of  the  murder  with  wdiich 
he  begun  —  not  for  rhetorical  display,  but  to  inspire  solemnity 
and  horror,  and  a  desire  to  detect  and  punish  for  justice  and 
for  security  ;  the  sublime  exhortation  to  duty  wath  w^hich  he 
closed — resting  on  the  universality,  and  authoritativeness,  and 
eternity  of  its  obligation — which  left  in  every  juror's  mind  the 
impression  that  it  w^as  the  duty  of  convicting  in  this  particular 
case  the  sense  of  wdiich  would  be  with  him  in  the  hour  of 
death,  and  in  the  judgment,  and  forever  —  w^ith  these  recol- 
lections of  that  trial  I  cannot  help  thinking  it  a  more  difficult 
and  higher  effort  of  mind  than  that  more  famous  "Oration 
for  the  Crown." 

It  would  be  not  unpleasing  nor  inappropriate  to  pause,  and 
recall  the  names  of  some  of  that  succession  of  competitors  by 
whose  rivalry  the  several  stages  of  his  professional  life  were 
honored  and  exercised ;  and  of  some  of  the  eminent  judicial 
persons  who  presided  over  that  various  and  high  contention. 
Time  scarcely  permits  this ;  but  in  the  briefest  notice  I  must 
take  occasion  to  say  that  perhaps  the  most  important  influence 
—  certainly  the  most  important  early  influence  —  on  his  profes- 
sional traits  and  fortunes  was  that  exerted  by  the  great  general 


512  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

abilities,  impressive  character,  and  legal  genius  of  Mr.  Mason. 
Who  he  was  you  all  know.  How  much  the  jurisprudence  of 
New  Hampshire  owes  to  him  ;  what  deep  traces  he  left  on  it ; 
how  much  he  did  to  promote  the  culture,  and  to  preserve  the 
integrity,  of  the  old  common  law ;  to  adapt  it  to  your  wants, 
and  your  institutions ;  and  to  construct  a  system  of  practice  by 
which  it  was  administered  with  extraordinary  energy  and  effect- 
iveness for  the  discovery  of  truth,  and  the  enforcement  of 
right ;  you  of  the  legal  profession  of  this  State  will  ever  be 
proud  to  acknowledge.  Another  forum  in  a  neighboring  com- 
monwealth, witnessed  and  profited  by  the  last  labors,  and  en- 
larged studies  of  the  consummate  lawyer  and  practiser ;  and 
at  an  earlier  day  the  Senate,  the  country,  had  recognized  his 
vast  practical  wisdom  and  sagacity,  the  fruit  of  the  highest 
intellectual  endowments,  matured  thought,  and  profound  ob- 
servation ;  his  fidelity  to  the  obligations  of  that  party  connec- 
tion to  which  he  was  attached ;  his  fidelity  through  all  his 
life,  still  more  conspicuous  and  still  more  admirable,  to  the 
higher  obligations  of  a  considerate  and  enlarged  patriotism. 
He  had  been  more  than  fourteen  years  at  the  bar,  when  Mr. 
Webster  came  to  it ;  he  discerned  instantly  what  manner  of 
man  his  youthful  competitor  was ;  he  admitted  him  to  his 
intimate  friendship ;  and  paid  him  the  unequivocal  compli- 
ment, and  did  him  the  real  kindness,  of  compelling  him  to  the 
utmost  exertion  of  his  diligence  and  capacity  by  calling  out 
against  him  all  his  own.  "  The  proprieties  of  this  occasion  " 
—  these  are  Mr.  Webster's  words  in  presenting  the  resolutions 
of  the  Suffolk  Bar  upon  Mr.  Mason's  death  — "  compel  me, 
with  whatever  reluctance,  to  refrain  from  the  indulgence  of  the 
personal  feelings  which  arise  in  my  heart  upon  the  death  of 
one  with  whom  I  have  cultivated  a  sincere,  affectionate,  and 
unbroken  friendship,  from  the  day  when  I  commenced  my  own 
professional  career  to  the  closing  hour  of  his  life.  I  will  not 
say  of  the  advantages  which  I  have  derived  from  his  inter- 
course and  conversation  all  that  Mr.  Fox  said  of  Edmund 
Burke ;  but  I  am  bound  to  say,  that  of  my  own  professional 
discipline  and  attainments,  whatever  they  may  be,  I  owe  much 
to  that  close  attention  to  the  discharge  of  my  duties  which  I 
was  compelled  to  pay  for  nine  successive  years,  from  day  to 
day,  by  Mr.  Mason's  efforts  and  arguments  at  the  same  bar. 


EULOGY   ON   DANIEL   WEBSTER.  S13 

I  must  have  been  unintelligent  indeed,  not  to  have  learned 
something-  from  the  constant  displays  of  that  power  which  I 
had  so  much  occasion  to  see  and  feel." 

I  reckon  next  to  his,  for  the  earlier  time  of  his  life,  the 
influence  of  the  learned  and  accomplished  Smith ;  and  next  to 
these  —  some  may  believe  greater  —  is  that  of  Mr.  Justice 
Story.  That  extraordinary  person  had  been  admitted  to  the 
bar  in  Essex  in  Massachusetts  in  1 801  ;  and  he  was  engaged 
in  many  trials  in  the  county  of  Rockingham  in  this  State  before 
Mr.  Webster  had  assumed  his  own  established  position.  Their 
political  opinions  differed  ;  but  such  was  his  affluence  of  knowl- 
edge already  ;  such  his  stimulant  enthusiasm  ;  he  was  burning 
with  so  incredible  a  passion  for  learning  and  fame,  that  the 
influence  on  the  still  young-  Webster  was  instant ;  and  it  was 
great  and  permanent.  It  was  reciprocal  too ;  and  an  intimacy 
began  that  attended  the  whole  course  of  honor  through  which 
each,  in  his  several  sphere,  ascended.  Parsons  he  saw,  also, 
but  rarely ;  and  Dexter  oftener,  and  with  more  nearness  of 
observation,  while  yet  laying-  the  foundation  of  his  own  mind 
and  character ;  and  he  shared  largely  in  the  universal  admira- 
tion of  that  time,  and  of  this,  of  their  attainments  and  genius 
and  diverse  greatness. 

As  he  came  to  the  grander  practice  of  the  national  bar, 
other  competition  was  to  be  encountered.  Other  names  begin 
to  solicit  us ;  other  contention  ;  higher  prizes.  It  would  be 
quite  within  the  proprieties  of  this  discourse  to  remember  the 
parties,  at  least,  to  some  of  the  higher  causes,  by  which  his 
ultimate  professional  fame  was  built  up ;  even  if  I  could  not 
hope  to  convey  any  impression  of  the  novelty  and  difficulty  of 
the  questions  which  they  involved,  or  of  the  positive  addition 
which  the  argument,  and  judgment,  made  to  the  treasures  of 
our  constitutional  and  general  jurisprudence.  But  there  is 
only  one  of  which  I  have  time  to  say  anything,  and  that  is  the 
case  which  established  the  inviolability  of  the  charter  of  Dart- 
mouth College  by  the  Legislature  of  the  State  of  New  Hamp- 
shire. Acts  of  the  Legislature,  passed  in  the  year  1816,  had 
invaded  its  charter.  A  suit  was  brought  to  test  their  validity. 
It  was  tried  in  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  State ;  a  judgment 
was  given  against  the  College,  and  this  was  appealed  to  the 
Supreme  Federal  Court  by  writ  of  error.     Upon  solemn  argu- 


514.  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES. 

ment  the  charter  was  decided  to  be  a  contract  whose  oWigation 
a  State  may  not  impair ;  the  acts  were  decided  to  be  invaUd 
as  an  attempt  to  impair  it,  and  you  hold  your  charter  under  that 
decision  to-day.  How  much  Mr.  Webster  contributed  to  that 
resuk,  how  much  the  effort  advanced  his  own  distinction  at  the 
bar,  you  all  know.  Well,  as  if  of  yesterday,  I  remember  how 
it  was  written  home  from  Washington,  that  "  Mr.  Webster 
closed  a  legal  argument  of  great  power  by  a  peroration  which 
charmed  and  melted  his  audience."  Often  since,  I  have  heard 
vague  accounts,  not  much  more  satisfactory,  of  the  speech  and 
the  scene.  I  was  aware  that  the  report  of  his  argument,  as 
it  was  published,  did  not  contain  the  actual  peroration,  and  I 
supposed  it  lost  forever.  By  the  great  kindness  of  a  learned 
and  excellent  person,  Dr.  Chauncy  A.  Goodrich,  a  professor 
in  Yale  College,  with  whom  I  had  not  the  honor  of  acquaint- 
ance, although  his  virtues,  accomplishments,  and  most  useful 
life,  were  well  known  to  me,  I  can  read  to  you  the  words 
whose  power,  when  those  lips  spoke  them,  so  many  owned, 
although  they  could  not  repeat  them.  As  those  lips  spoke 
them,  we  shall  hear  them  nevermore,  but  no  utterance  can  ex- 
tinguish their  simple,  sweet,  and  perfect  beauty.  Let  me  first 
bring  the  general  scene  before  you,  and  then  you  will  hear  the 
rest  in  Mr.  Goodrich's  description.  It  was  in  1818,  in  the 
thirty-seventh  year  of  Mr.  Webster's  age.  It  was  addressed 
to  a  tribunal  presided  over  by  Marshall,  assisted  by  Washing- 
ton, Livingston,  Johnson,  Story,  Todd,  and  Duvall,  —  a  tribu- 
nal unsurpassed  on  earth  in  all  that  gives  illustration  to  a  bench 
of  law,  and  sustained  and  venerated  by  a  noble  bar.  He  had 
called  to  his  aid  the  ripe  and  beautiful  culture  of  Hopkinson ; 
and  of  his  opponents  was  William  Wirt,  then  and  ever  of  the 
leaders  of  the  bar,  who,  with  faculties  and  accomplishments 
fitting  him  to  adorn  and  guide  public  life,  abounding  in  deep 
professional  learning,  and  in  the  most  various  and  elegant 
acquisitions,  —  a  ripe  and  splendid  orator,  made  so  by  genius 
and  the  most  assiduous  culture,  —  consecrated  all  to  the  ser- 
vice of  the  law.  It  was  before  that  tribunal,  and  in  presence 
of  an  audience  select  and  critical,  among  whom,  it  is  to  be 
borne  in  mind,  were  some  graduates  of  the  college,  who  were 
attending  to  assist  against  her,  that  he  opened  the  cause.  I 
gladly  proceed  in  the  words  of  Mr.  Goodrich. 


EULOGY  ON   DANIEL   WEBSTER.  515 

"  Before  going"  to  Washington,  wliich  I  did  chiefly  for  the 
sake  of  hearing  Mr.  Webster,  I  was  told  that,  in  arguing  the 
case  at  Exeter,  New  Hampshire,  he  had  left  the  whole  court- 
room in  tears  at  the  conclusion  of  his  speech.  This,  I  confess, 
struck  me  unpleasantly,  —  any  attempt  at  pathos  on  a  purely 
legal  question  like  this  seemed  hardly  in  good  taste.  On  my 
way  to  Washington,  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Webster. 
We  were  together  for  several  days  in  Philadelphia,  at  the 
house  of  a  common  friend  ;  and  as  the  College  question  was 
one  of  deep  interest  to  literary  men,  we  conversed  often  and 
largely  on  the  subject.  As  he  dwelt  upon  the  leading  points 
of  the  case,  in  terms  so  calm,  simple,  and  precise,  I  said  to 
myself  more  than  once,  in  reference  to  the  story  I  had  heard, 
'  Whatever  may  have  seemed  appropriate  in  defending  the 
College  at  home^  and  on  her  own  ground,  there  will  be  no 
appeal  to  the  feelings  of  Judge  Marshall  and  his  associates  at 
Washington.'  The  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States  held 
its  session,  that  winter,  in  a  mean  apartment  of  moderate  size 
—  the  Capitol  not  having  been  built  after  its  destruction  in 
1814<.  The  audience,  when  the  case  came  on,  was  therefore 
small,  consisting  chiefly  of  legal  men,  the  elite  of  the  profes- 
sion throughout  the  country.  Mr.  Webster  entered  upon  his 
argument  in  the  calm  tone  of  easy  and  dignified  conversation. 
His  matter  was  so  comj)letely  at  his  command  that  he  scarcely 
looked  at  his  brief,  but  went  on  for  more  than  four  hours  with 
a  statement  so  luminous,  and  a  chain  of  reasoning  so  easy  to 
be  understood,  and  yet  approaching  so  nearly  to  absolute 
demonstration,  that  he  seemed  to  carry  with  him  every  man  of 
his  audience  without  the  slightest  effort  or  weariness  on  either 
side.  It  was  hardly  eloquence^  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term  ; 
it  was  pure  reason.  Now  and  then,  for  a  sentence  or  two,  his 
eye  flashed  and  his  voice  swelled  into  a  bolder  note,  as  he 
uttered  some  emphatic  thought ;  but  he  instantly  fell  back  into 
the  tone  of  earnest  conversation,  which  ran  throughout  the 
great  body  of  his  speech.  A  single  circumstance  will  show 
you  the  clearness  and  absorbing  power  of  his  argument. 

"  I  observed  that  Judge  Story,  at  the  opening  of  the  case, 
had  prepared  himself,  pen  in  hand,  as  if  to  take  copious  min- 
utes. Hour  after  hour  I  saw  him  fixed  in  the  same  attitude, 
but,  so  far  as  I  could  perceive,  with  not  a  note  on  his  paper. 


516  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

The  argument  closed,  and  /  could  not  discover  that  he  had 
taken  a  single  note.  Others  around  me  remarked  the  same 
thing ;  and  it  was  among  the  on  dits  of  Washington,  that  a 
friend  spoke  to  him  of  the  fact  with  surprise,  when  the  Judge 
remarked,  '  Everything  was  so  clear,  and  so  easy  to  remem- 
ber, that  not  a  note  seemed  necessary,  and,  in  fact,  I  thought 
little  or  nothing  about  my  notes.' 

"  The  argument  ended.  Mr.  Webster  stood  for  some 
moments  silent  before  the  Court,  while  every  eye  was  fixed 
intently  upon  him.  At  length,  addressing  the  Chief  Justice, 
Marshall,  he  proceeded  thus  :  — 

"  '  This^t  /Sir,  is  iwj  case  !  It  is  the  case,  not  merely  of 
that  humble  institution,  it  is  the  case  of  every  College  in  our 
land.  It  is  more.  It  is  the  case  of  every  Eleemosynary  In- 
stitution throughout  our  country,  —  of  all  those  great  chari- 
ties founded  by  the  piety  of  our  ancestors  to  alleviate  human 
misery,  and  scatter  blessings  along  the  pathway  of  life.  It  is 
more  !  It  is,  in  some  sense,  the  case  of  every  man  among  us 
who  has  property  of  which  he  may  be  stripped ;  for  the  ques- 
tion is  simply  this  :  Shall  our  State  Legislatures  be  allowed  to 
take  that  which  is  not  their  own,  to  turn  it  from  its  original 
use,  and  apply  it  to  such  ends  or  purposes  as  they,  in  their 
discretion,  shall  see  fit ! 

"  '  Sir,  you  may  destroy  this  little  Institution  ;  it  is  weak  ; 
it  is  in  your  hands  !  I  know  it  is  one  of  the  lesser  lights  in 
the  literary  horizon  of  our  country.  You  may  put  it  out. 
But  if  you  do  so,  you  must  carry  through  your  work !  You 
must  extinguish,  one  after  another,  all  those  great  lights  of 
science  which,  for  more  than  a  century,  have  thrown  their  radi- 
ance over  our  land ! 

" '  It  is,  Sir,  as  I  have  said,  a  small  College.  And  yet, 
there  are  those  ivho  love  it .' 

"  Here  the  feelings  which  he  had  thus  far  succeeded  in 
keeping  down,  broke  forth.  His  lips  quivered  ;  his  firm  cheeks 
trembled  with  emotion  ;  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tears,  his 
voice  choked,  and  he  seemed  struggling  to  the  utmost  simply 
to  gain  that  mastery  over  himself  which  might  save  him  from 
an  unmanly  burst  of  feeling.  I  will  not  attempt  to  give  you 
the  few  broken  words  of  tenderness  in  which  he  went  on  to 
speak  of  his  attachment  to  the  College.     The  whole  seemed  to 


EULOGY   ON   DANIEL  WEBSTER.  5iy 

be  mingled  throughout  with  the  recollections  of  father,  mother, 
brother,  and  all  the  trials  and  privations  through  which  he  had 
made  his  way  into  life.  Every  one  saw  that  it  was  wholly 
unpremeditated,  a  pressure  on  his  heart,  which  sought  relief  in 
words  and  tears. 

"  The  court-room  during  these  two  or  three  minutes  pre- 
sented an  extraordinary  spectacle.  Chief  Justice  Marshall, 
with  his  tall  and  gaunt  figure  bent  over  as  if  to  catch  the 
slightest  whisper,  the  deep  furrows  of  his  cheek  expanded 
with  emotion,  and  eyes  suffused  with  tears ;  Mr.  Justice  Wash- 
ington at  his  side,  —  with  his  small  and  emaciated  frame,  and 
countenance  more  like  marble  than  I  ever  saw  on  any  other 
human  being,  —  leaning  forward  with  an  eager,  troubled  look; 
and  the  remainder  of  the  Court,  at  the  two  extremities,  press- 
ing, as  it  were,  toward  a  single  point,  while  the  audience  below 
were  wrapping  themselves  round  in  closer  folds  beneatli  the 
bench  to  catch  each  look,  and  every  movement  of  the  speak- 
er's face.  If  a  painter  could  give  us  the  scene  on  canvas, — 
those  forms  and  countenances,  and  Daniel  Webster  as  he  then 
stood  in  the  midst,  it  would  be  one  of  the  most  touching  pic- 
tures in  the  history  of  eloquence.  One  thing  it  taught  me, 
that  the  imthetic  depends  not  merely  on  the  words  uttered,  but 
still  more  on  the  estimate  we  put  upon  him  who  utters  them. 
There  was  not  one  among  the  strong-minded  men  of  that  as- 
sembly who  could  think  it  unmanly  to  weep,  when  he  saw 
standing  before  him  the  man  who  had  made  such  an  argument, 
melted  into  the  tenderness  of  a  child. 

"  Mr.  Webster  had  now  recovered  his  composure,  and  fix- 
ing his  keen  eye  on  the  Chief  Justice,  said,  in  that  deep  tone 
with  which  he  sometinies  thrilled  the  heart  of  an  audience, — 

" '  Sir,  I  know  not  how  others  may  feel,'  (glancing  at  the 
opponents  of  the  College  before  him,)  '  but,  for  myself,  when 
I  see  my  Alma  Mater  surrounded,  like  Caesar  in  the  senate- 
house,  by  those  who  are  reiterating  stab  upon  stab,  I  would 
not,  for  this  right  liand,  have  her  turn  to  me,  and  say,  Et  tu 
quoque  mi  fill !     And  thou  too^  my  son  I' 

"  He  sat  down.  There  was  a  deathlike  stillness  throughout 
the  room  for  some  moments ;  every  one  seenied  to  be  slowly 
recovering  himself,  and  coming  gradually  back  to  his  ordinary 
range  of  thought  and  feeling." 

VOL.  I.  44 


518  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

It  was  while  Mr.  Webster  was  ascending-  through  the  long 
gradations  of  the  legal  profession  to  its  highest  rank,  that  by 
a  parallel  series  of  display  on  a  stage,  and  in  parts  totally 
distinct,  by  other  studies,  thoughts,  and  actions,  he  rose  also  to 
be  at  his  death  the  first  of  American  statesmen.  The  last  of 
the  mighty  rivals  was  dead  before,  and  he  stood  alone.  Give 
this  aspect  also  of  his  greatness  a  passing  glance.  His  pub- 
lic life  began  in  May  1813,  in  the  House  of  Representatives 
in  Congress,  to  which  this  State  had  elected  him.  It  ended 
w^hen  he  died.  If  you  except  the  interval  between  his  removal 
from  New  Hampshire  and  his  election  in  Massachusetts,  it 
was  a  public  life  of  forty  years.  By  what  political  morality, 
and  by  what  enlarged  patriotism,  embracing  the  whole  coun- 
try, that  life  was  guided,  I  shall  consider  hereafter.  Let  me 
now  fix  your  attention  rather  on  the  magnitude  and  variety 
and  actual  value  of  the  service.  Consider  that  from  the  day 
he  went  upon  the  Committee  of  Foreign  Relations,  in  1813, 
in  time  of  war,  and  more  and  more,  the  longer  he  lived  and 
the  higher  he  rose,  he  was  a  man  whose  great  talents  and 
devotion  to  public  duty  placed  and  kept  him  in  a  position  of 
associated  or  sole  command ;  command  in  the  political  connec- 
tion to  which  he  belonged,  command  in  opposition,  command 
in  power  ;  and  appreciate  the  responsibilities  which  that  im- 
plies, what  care,  what  prudence,  what  mastery  of  the  whole 
ground,  —  exacting  for  the  conduct  of  a  party,  as  Gibbon  says 
of  Fox,  abilities  and  civil  discretion  equal  to  the  conduct  of 
an  empire.  Consider  the  work  he  did  in  that  life  of  forty 
years — the  range  of  subjects  investigated  and  discussed: 
composing  the  whole  theory  and  practice  of  our  organic  and 
administrative  politics,  foreign  and  domestic :  the  vast  body  of 
instructive  thought  he  produced  and  put  in  possession  of  the 
country  ;  how  much  he  achieved  in  congress  as  well  as  at  the 
bar,  to  fix  the  true  interpretation,  as  well  as  to  impress  the 
transcendent  value  of  the  Constitution  itself,  as  much  altogeth- 
er as  any  jurist  or  statesman  since  its  adoption  ;  how  much  to 
establish  in  the  general  mind  the  great  doctrine  that  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  United  States  is  a  government  proper,  estab- 
lished by  the  people  of  the  States,  not  a  compact  between 
sovereign  communities,  —  that  within  its  limits  it  is  supreme, 
and  that  whether  it  is  within  its  limits  or  not,  in  any  given 


EULOGY    ON   DANIEL    WEBSTER.  519 

exertion  of  itself,  is  to  be  determined  by  the  Supreme  Court 
of  the  United  States  —  the  ultimate  arbiter  in  the  last  resort 
—  from  which  there  is  no  appeal  but  to  revolution ;  how 
much  he  did  in  the  course  of  the  discussions  which  grew  out 
of  the  proposed  mission  to  Panama,  and,  at  a  later  day,  out 
of  the  removal  of  the  deposits,  to  place  the  executive  depart- 
ment of  the  government  on  its  true  basis,  and  under  its  true 
limitations ;  to  secure  to  that  department  all  its  just  powers 
on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  hand  to  vindicate  to  the 
legislative  department,  and  especially  to  the  senate,  all  that 
belong  to  them  ;  to  arrest  the  tendencies  which  he  thought  at 
one  time  threatened  to  substitute  the  government  of  a  single 
will,  of  a  single  person  of  great  force  of  character  and  bound- 
less j)opularity,  and  of  a  numerical  majority  of  the  people, 
told  by  the  head,  without  intermediate  institutions  of  any 
kind,  judicial  or  senatorial,  in  place  of  the  elaborate  system  of 
checks  and  balances,  by  which  the  Constitution  aimed  at  a 
government  of  laws,  and  not  of  men ;  how  much,  attracting 
less  popular  attention,  but  scarcely  less  important,  to  complete 
the  great  work  which  experience  had  shown  to  be  left  unfin- 
ished by  the  judiciary  act  of  1789,  by  providing  for  the  pun- 
ishment of  all  crimes  against  the  United  States ;  how  much 
for  securing  a  safe  currency  and  a  true  financial  system,  not 
only  by  the  promulgation  of  sound  opinions,  but  by  good 
specific  measures  adopted,  or  bad  ones  defeated ;  how  much  to 
develop  the  vast  material  resources  of  the  country,  and  to  push 
forward  the  planting  of  the  West  —  not  troubled  by  any  fear 
of  exhausting  old  States  —  by  a  liberal  policy  of  public  lands, 
by  vindicating  the  constitutional  power  of  Congress  to  make 
or  aid  in  making  large  classes  of  internal  improvements,  and 
by  acting  on  that  doctrine  uniformly  from  1813,  whenever  a 
road  was  to  be  built,  or  a  rapid  suppressed,  or  a  canal  to  be 
opened,  or  a  breakwater  or  a  lighthouse  set  up  above  or  below 
the  flow  of  the  tide,  if  so  far  beyond  the  ability  of  a  single 
State,  or  of  so  wide  utility  to  commerce  and  labor  as  to  rise  to  the 
rank  of  a  work  general  in  its  influences  —  another  tie  of  union 
because  another  proof  of  the  beneficence  of  union ;  how  much 
to  protect  the  vast  mechanical  and  manufacturing  interests  of 
the  country,  a  value  of  many  hundreds  of  millions  —  after 
having  been  lured  into  existence  against  his  counsels,  against 


5<20  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES. 

his  science  of  political  economy,  by  a  policy  of  artificial  en- 
couragement—  from  being-  sacrificed,   and    the   pursuits   and 
plans  of  large  regions  and  communities  broken   up,  and  the 
acquired   skill  of   the   country   squandered   by   a   sudden   and 
capricious  withdrawal  of  the  promise  of  the  government;  how 
much  for  the  right  performance  of  the  most  delicate  and  diffi- 
cult of  all  tasks,  the  ordering  of  the  foreign  affairs  of  a  nation, 
free,  sensitive,  self-conscious,  recognizing,  it  is  true,  public  law 
and  a  morality  of  the  State,  binding  on  the  conscience  of  the 
State,  yet   aspiring    to    power,   eminence,  and    command,  its 
whole  frame  filled  full  and  all  on  fire  with  American  feeling, 
sympathetic   with    liberty   everywhere  —  how    much    for    the 
right  ordering  of  the  foreign  affairs  of  such  a  State  —  aiming 
in   all  his  policy,  from  his  speech  on  the  Greek  question  in 
18SS,  to  his  letters  to  M.  Hulsemann  in  1850,  to  occupy  the 
high,  plain,  yet  dizzy  ground  which  separates  influence  from 
intervention,  to  avow  and  promulgate  warm  good- will  to  hu- 
manity, wherever  striving  to  be  free,  to  inquire  authentically 
into  the  history  of  its  struggles,  to  take  official  and  avowed 
pains  to  ascertain  the  moment  when  its  success  may  be  recog- 
nized, consistently,  ever,  with  the  great  code  that  keeps  the 
peace  of  the  world,  abstaining  from  every  thing  which  shall 
give  any  nation  a  right  under  the  law  of  nations  to  utter  one 
word  of  complaint,  still  less  to  retaliate  by  war  —  the  sympa- 
thy, but  also  the  neutrality,  of  Washington  —  how  much  to 
compose  with  honor  a  concurrence  of  difficulties  with  the  first 
power  in  the  world,  which  any  thing  less  than  the  highest  de- 
gree of  discretion,  firmness,  ability,  and  means  of  command- 
ing respect  and  confidence  at  home  and  abroad  would  inevita- 
bly have  conducted  to  the  last  calamity  —  a  disputed  boundary 
line  of  many  hundred  miles,  from  the  St.  Croix  to  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  which    divided  an   exasperated   and  impracticable 
border  population,  enlisted  the  pride  and  affected  the  interests 
and  controlled    the   politics   of   particular  States,   as  well    as 
pressed  on  the  peace  and  honor  of  the  nation,  which  the  most 
popular  administrations   of  the  era  of  the   quietest  and   best 
public  feelings,  the  times  of  Monroe  and  of  Jackson,  could  not 
adjust ;  which  had  grown  so  complicated  with  other  topics  of 
excitement  that  one  false  step,  right  or  left,  would  have  been 
a  step  down  a  precipice  —  this  line  settled  forever  —  the  claim 


EULOGY   ON   DANIEL   WEBSTER.  5*^1 

of  England  to  search  our  ships  for  the  suppression  of  the  slave- 
trade  silenced  forever,  and  a  new  engagement  entered  into  hy 
treaty,  binding  the  national  faith  to  contribute  a  specific  naval 
force  for  putting  an  end  to  the  great  crime  of  man  —  the 
long  practice  of  England  to  enter  an  American  ship  and  im- 
press from  its  crew,  terminated  forever ;  the  deck  henceforth 
guarded  sacredly  and  completely  by  the  flag  —  how  much  by 
profound  discernment,  by  eloquent  speech,  by  devoted  life  to 
strengthen  the  ties  of  Union,  and  breathe  the  fine  and  strong 
spirit  of  nationality  through  all  our  numbers  —  how  nmch, 
most  of  all,  last  of  all,  after  the  war  with  Mexico,  needless  if 
his  councils  had  governed,  had  ended  in  so  vast  an  acquisition 
of  territory,  in  presenting  to  the  two  great  antagonistic  sec- 
tions of  our  country  so  vast  an  area  to  enter  on,  so  imperial  a 
prize  to  contend  for,  and  the  accursed  fraternal  strife  had  be- 
gun —  how  much  then,  when  rising  to  the  measure  of  a  true 
and  difficult  and  rare  greatness,  remembering  that  he  had  a 
country  to  save  as  well  as  a  local  constituency  to  gratify,  lay- 
ing all  the  wealth,  all  the  hopes,  of  an  illustrious  life  on  the 
altar  of  a  hazardous  patriotism,  he  sought  and  won  the  more 
exceeding  glory  which  now  attends  —  which  in  the  next  age 
shall  more  conspicuously  attend  —  his  name  who  composes  an 
agitated  and  saves  a  sinking"  land  —  recall  this  series  of  con- 
duct and  influences,  study  them  carefully  in  their  facts  and 
results  —  the  reading  of  years  —  and  you  attain  to  a  true 
appreciation  of  this  aspect  of  his  greatness  —  his  public  char- 
acter and  life. 

For  such  a  review  the  eulogy  of  an  hour  has  no  room.  Such 
a  task  demands  research,  details,  proofs,  illustrations,  a  long  la- 
bor,— a  volume  of  history,  composed  according  to  her  severest 
laws, — setting  down  nothing,  depreciating  nothing,  in  malignity 
to  the  dead ;  suppressing  nothing,  and  falsifying  nothing,  in  ad- 
ulation of  the  dead  ;  professing  fidelity  incorrupt,  unswerved  by 
hatred  or  by  love,  yet  able  to  measure,  able  to  glow  in  the  con- 
templation of  a  true  greatness,  and  a  vast  and  varied  and  use- 
ful public  life;  such  a  history  as  the  genius  and  judgment  and 
delicate  private  and  public  morality  of  Everett,  assisted  by  his 
perfect  knowledge  of  the  facts,  —  not  disqualified  by  his  long 
friendship,  unchilled  to  the  last  hour,  —  such  a  history  as  he 
might  construct. 

44* 


^22  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES. 

Two  or  three  sugg-estioiis,  occurring  on  the  most  general 
observation  of  this  aspect  of  his  eminence,  you  will  tolerate  as 
I  leave  the  topic. 

Remark  how  very  large  a  proportion  of  all  this  class  of  his 
acts  are  wholly  beyond  and  outside  of  the  profession  of  the 
law ;  demanding  studies,  experience,  a  turn  of  mind,  a  cast  of 
qualities  and  character,  such  as  that  profession  neither  gives 
nor  exacts.  Some  single  speeches  in  Congress,  of  consum- 
mate ability,  have  been  made  by  great  lawyers,  drawing  for 
the  purpose  only  on  the  learning,  accomplishments,  logic,  and 
eloquence  of  the  forum.  Such  was  Chief  Justice,  then  Mr., 
Marshall's  argument  in  the  case  of  Jonathan  Robbins, — turn- 
ing on  the  interpretation  of  a  treaty,  and  the  constitutional  power 
of  the  executive;  a  demonstration,  if  there  is  any  in  Euclid, 
anticipating  the  masterly  judgments  in  the  cause  of  Dartmouth 
College,  or  of  Gibbons  and  Ogden,  or  of  Maculloch  and  the 
State  of  Maryland ;  but  such  an  one  as  a  lawyer  like  him  — 
if  another  there  was  —  could  have  made,  in  his  professional 
capacity,  at  the  bar  of  the  House,  although  he  had  never 
reflected  on  practical  politics  an  hour  in  his  life.  Such,  some- 
what, was  William  Pinkney's  speech  in  the  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives, on  the  treaty-making  power,  in  1815,  and  his  two 
more  splendid  displays  in  the  Senate,  on  the  Missouri  question, 
in  1 820,  —  the  last  of  which  I  heard  Mr.  Clay  pronounce  the 
greatest  he  ever  heard.  They  were  pieces  of  legal  reasoning 
on  questions  of  constitutional  law,  decorated,  of  course,  by  a 
rhetoric  which  Hortensius  might  have  envied,  and  Cicero  would 
not  have  despised ;  but  they  were  professional  at  last.  To 
some  extent  this  is  true  of  some  of  Mr.  Webster's  ablest 
speeches  in  Congress  ;  or,  more  accurately,  of  some  of  the 
more  important  portions  of  some  of  his  ablest.  I  should  say 
so  of  a  part  of  that  on  the  Panama  Mission  ;  of  the  reply  to 
Mr.  Hayne,  even  ;  and  of  almost  the  whole  of  that  reply  to 
Mr.  Calhoun  on  the  thesis,  "  the  Constitution  not  a  compact 
between  sovereign  States ;  "  the  whole  series  of  discussion  of 
the  constitutional  power  of  the  executive,  and  the  constitu- 
tional power  of  the  senate,  growing  out  of  the  removal  of 
the  deposits  and  the  supposed  tendencies  of  our  system 
towards  a  centralization  of  government  in  a  President,  and 
a  majority  of  the  people,  —  marked,  all  of  them,  by  amaz- 


EULOGY   ON   DANIEL   WEBSTER.  5^3 

ing"  ability.  To  these  the  lawyer  who  could  demonstrate  that 
the  charter  of  this  College  is  a  contract  within  the  Consti- 
tution, or  that  the  steamboat  monopoly  usurped  upon  the  ex- 
ecuted power  of  Congress  to  regulate  commerce,  was  already 
equal ;  but  to  have  been  the  leader,  or  of  the  leaders,  of  his 
political  connection  for  thirty  years ;  to  have  been  able  to 
instruct  and  guide  on  every  question  of  policy,  as  well  as  law, 
which  interested  the  nation  in  all  that  time ;  every  question  of 
finance,  of  currency,  of  the  lands,  of  the  development  and  care 
of  our  resources  and  labor ;  to  have  been  of  strength  to  help 
to  lead  his  country  by  the  hand  up  to  a  position  of  influence 
and  attraction  on  the  highest  places  of  earth,  yet  to  keep  her 
peace  and  to  keep  her  honor ;  to  have  been  able  to  emulate  the 
prescriptive  and  awful  renown  of  the  founders  of  States,  by 
doing  something  which  will  be  admitted,  when  some  genera- 
tions have  passed,  even  more  than  now,  to  have  contributed  to 
preserve  the  State, —  for  all  this  another  man  was  needed,  and 
he  stands  forth  another  and  the  same. 

I  am  hereafter  to  speak  separately  of  the  political  morality 
which  guided  him  ever ;  but  I  would  say  a  word  now  on  two 
portions  of  his  public  life,  one  of  which  has  been  the  subject 
of  accusatory,  the  other  of  disparaging,  criticism,  —  unsound, 
unkind,  in  both  instances. 

The  first  comprises  his  course  in  regard  to  a  protective  pol- 
icy. He  opposed  a  tariff"  of  protection,  it  is  said,  in  1816  and 
1820  and  1824<;  and  he  opposed,  in  1828,  a  sudden  and  fatal 
repeal  of  such  a  tariff' ;  and  thereupon  I  have  seen  it  written 
that  "  this  proved  him  a  man  with  no  great,  comprehensive 
ideas  of  political  economy ;  who  took  the  fleeting  interests  and 
transient  opinions  of  the  hour  for  his  norms  of  conduct ;  " 
"who  had  no  sober  and  serious  convictions  of  his  own."  I 
have  seen  it  more  decorously  written,  "  that  his  opinions  on 
this  subject  were  not  determined  by  general  principles,  but  by 
a  consideration  of  immediate  sectional  interests." 

I  will  not  answer  this  by  what  Scaliger  says  of  Lipsius,  the 
arrogant  pedant,  who  dogmatized  on  the  deeper  politics  as  he 
did  on  the  text  of  Tacitus  and  Seneca.  Neqiie  est  poUticus  ; 
nee  potest  qideqiiam  in  ijolitia  ;  nihil  possunt  pedantes  in  ipsis 
rebus :  7iec  e(/o,  nee  alius  docttis  possumus  seribere  in  politicis. 
I  say  only  that  the  case  totally  fails  to  give  color  to  the  charge. 


524i  LECTURES   AND    ADDRESSES. 

The  reasonings  of  Mr.  Webster  in  1816,  1820,  and  1824, 
express  that,  on  mature  reflection  and  due  and  appropriate 
study,  he  had  embraced  the  opinion  that  it  was  needless  and 
unwise  to  force  American  manufactures,  by  regulation,  prema- 
turely to  life.  Bred  in  a  commercial  community;  taught  from 
his  earliest  hours  of  thought  to  regard  the  care  of  conniierce 
as,  in  point  of  fact,  a  leading  object  and  cause  of  the  Union ; 
to  observe  around  him  no  other  forms  of  material  industry 
than  those  of  commerce,  navigation,  fisheries,  agriculture,  and 
a  few  plain  and  robust  mechanical  arts,  he  would  come  to  the 
study  of  the  political  economy  of  the  subject  with  a  certain 
preoccupation  of  mind,  perhaps  ;  so  coming,  he  did  study  it  at 
its  well-heads,  and  he  adopted  his  conclusions  sincerely,  and 
announced  them  strongly. 

His  opinions  were  overruled  by  Congress ;  and  a  national 
policy  was  adopted,  holding  out  all  conceivable  promises  of  per- 
manence, under  which  vast  and  sensitive  investments  of  capital 
were  made ;  the  expectations,  the  employments,  the  habits,  of 
whole  ranges  of  States  were  recast ;  and  industry,  new  to  us. 
springing,  immature,  had  been  advanced  just  so  far  that,  if 
deserted  at  that  moment,  there  must  follow  a  squandering  of 
skill,  a  squandering  of  property,  an  aggregate  of  destruction, 
senseless,  needless,  and  unconscientious,  —  such  as  marks  the 
worst  form  of  revolution.  On  these  facts,  at  a  later  day,  he 
thought  that  that  industry,  the  child  of  government,  should  not 
thus  capriciously  be  deserted.  "  The  duty  of  the  government," 
he  said,  "at  the  present  moment  would  seem  to  be  to  preserve, 
not  to  destroy ;  to  maintain  the  position  which  it  has  assumed ; 
and,  for  one,  I  shall  feel  it  an  indispensable  obligation  to  hold 
it  steady,  as  far  as  in  my  power,  to  that  degree  of  protection 
which  it  has  undertaken  to  bestow." 

And  does  this  prove  that  these  original  opinions  were  hasty, 
shallow,  insincere,  unstudied  ?  Consistently  with  every  one  of 
them ;  consistently  with  the  true  spirit  and  all  the  aims  of  the 
science  of  political  economy  itself ;  consistently  with  every  duty 
of  sober,  high,  earnest,  and  moral  statesmanship,  might  not  he 
who  resisted  the  making  of  a  tariff  in  1816  deprecate  its  aban- 
donment in  1828  ?  Does  not  Adam  Smith  himself  admit  that 
it  is  "  matter  fit  for  deliberation  how  far,  or  in  what  manner, 
it  may  be  proper  to  restore  that  free  importation  after  it  has 


EULOGY   ON   DANIEL  WEBSTER.  5^5 

been  for  some  time  interrupted "  ]  implying-  that  a  general 
principle  of  national  wealth  may  be  displaced  or  modified  by 
special  circumstances ;  but  would  these  censors,  therefore,  cry 
out  that  he  had  no  "  great  and  comprehensive  ideas  of  political 
econoni}^,"  and  was  willing  to  be  "  determined,  not  by  general 
principles,  but  by  immediate  interests  "  ^  Because  a  father 
advises  his  son  against  an  early  and  injudicious  marriage,  does 
it  logically  follow,  or  is  it  ethically  right,  that,  after  his  advice 
has  been  disregarded,  he  is  to  recommend  desertion  of  the 
young  wife  and  the  young  child  ?  I  do  not  appreciate  the 
beauty  and  "comprehensiveness"  of  those  scientific  ideas  which 
forget  that  the  actual  and  vast  "  interests  "  of  the  community 
are  exactly  what  the  legislator  has  to  protect ;  that  the  concrete 
of  things  must  limit  the  foolish  wantonness  of  d  priori  theory; 
that  that  department  of  politics  which  has  for  its  object  the 
promotion  and  distribution  of  the  wealth  of  nations,  may  very 
consistently  and  very  scientifically  preserve  what  it  would  not 
have  created.  He  who  accuses  Mr.  Webster  in  this  behalf  of 
"  having  no  sober  and  serious  convictions  of  his  own,"  must 
afford  some  other  proof  than  his  opposition  to  the  introduction 
of  a  policy,  and  then  his  willingness  to  protect  it  after  it  had 
been  introduced,  and  five  hundred  millions  of  property,  or,  how- 
ever, a  countless  sum,  had  been  invested  under  it,  or  become 
dependent  on  its  continuance. 

I  should  not  think  that  I  consulted  his  true  fame,  if  I  did 
not  add  that  as  he  came  to  observe  the  practical  workings  of 
the  protective  policy  more  closely  than  at  first  he  had  done  ; 
as  he  came  to  observe  the  working-  and  influences  of  a  various 
manufacturing  and  mechanical  labor  ;  to  see  how  it  employs 
and  develops  every  faculty  ;  finds  occupation  for  every  hour ; 
creates  or  diffuses  and  disciplines  ingenuity,  gathering  up 
every  fragment  of  mind  and  time  so  that  nothing  be  lost ; 
how  a  steady  and  ample  home  market  assists  agriculture  ;  how 
all  the  great  employments  of  man  are  connected  by  a  kindred 
tie,  so  that  the  tilling  of  the  land,  navigation,  foreign,  coast- 
wise, and  interior  commerce,  all  grow  with  the  growth,  and 
strengthen  with  the  strength  of  the  industry  of  the  arts,  —  he 
came  to  appreciate,  more  adequately  than  at  first,  how  this 
form  of  labor  contributes  to  wealth,  power,  enjoyment,  a  great 
civilization ;  he   came   more   justly   to   grasp   the    conception 


526  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

of  how  consummate  a  destruction  it  would  cause  —  how  sense- 
less, how  unphilosophical,  how  immoral  —  to  arrest  it  suddenly 
and  capriciously  —  after  it  had  been  lured  into  life  ;  how  wiser, 
how  far  truer  to  the  principles  of  the  science  which  seeks  to 
augment  the  wealth  of  the  State,  to  refuse  to  destroy  so  im- 
mense an  accumulation  of  that  wealth !  In  this  sense,  and  in 
this  way,  I  believe  his  opinions  were  matured  and  modified  ; 
but  it  does  not  quite  follow  that  they  were  not,  in  every  period, 
conscientiously  formed  and  held,  or  that  they  were  not  in  the 
actual  circumstances  of  each  period  philosophically  just,  and 
practically  wise. 

The  other  act  of  his  public  life  to  which  I  alluded  is  his 
negotiation  of  the  Treaty  of  Washington,  in  1842,  with  Great 
Britain.  This  act,  the  country,  the  world,  has  judged,  and  has 
applauded.  Of  his  administrative  ability,  his  discretion,  tem- 
per, civil  courage,  his  power  of  exacting  respect  and  confidence 
from  those  with  whom  he  communicated,  and  of  influencing 
their  reason  ;  his  knowledge  of  the  true  interests  and  true 
grandeur  of  the  two  great  parties  to  the  negotiation  ;  of  the 
States  of  the  Union  more  immediately  concerned,  and  of  the 
world  whose  chief  concern  is  peace ;  and  of  the  intrepidity 
with  which  he  encountered  the  disappointed  feelings,  and  dis- 
paraging criticisms  of  the  hour,  in  the  consciousness  that  he 
had  done  a  good  and  large  deed,  and  earned  a  permanent  and 
honest  renown  —  of  these  it  is  the  truest  and  most  fortunate 
single  exemplification  which  remains  of  him.  Concerning  its 
difficulty,  importance,  and  merits  of  all  sorts,  there  were  at  the 
time  few  dissenting  opinions  among  those  most  conversant 
with  the  subject,  although  there  were  some ;  to-day  there  are 
fewer  still.  They  are  so  few  —  a  single  sneer  by  the  side  of 
his  grave,  expressing  that  "  a  man  who  makes  such  a  bargain 
is  not  entitled  to  any  great  glory  among  diplomatists,"  is  all 
that  I  can  call  to  mind  —  that  I  will  not  arrest  the  course 
of  your  feelings  here  and  now  by  attempting  to  refute  that 
"  sneer  "  out  of  the  history  of  the  hour  and  scene.  "  Stand- 
ing here,"  he  said  in  April,  1846,  in  the  senate  of  the  United 
States  to  which  he  had  returned  —  "  standing  here  to-day,  in 
this  senate,  and  speaking  in  behalf  of  the  administration  of 
which  I  formed  a  part,  and  in  behalf  of  the  two  houses  of 
congress    who    sustained    that    administration,    cordially    and 


EULOGY   ON   DANIEL  WEBSTER.  52^ 

effectively,  in  everything  relating"  to  this  treaty,  I  am  willing- 
to  appeal  to  the  public  men  of  the  age,  whether  in  184:2,  and 
in  the  city  of  Washington,  something  was  not  done  for  the 
suppression  of  crime ;  for  the  true  exposition  of  the  princi- 
ples of  public  law  ;  for  the  freedom  and  security  of  commerce 
on  the  ocean,  and  for  the  peace  of  the  world  !  "  In  that  forum 
the  appeal  has  been  heard,  and  the  praise  of  a  diplomatic 
achievement  of  true  and  permanent  glory,  has  been  irreversi- 
bly awarded  to  him.  Beyond  that  forum  of  the  mere  "  public 
men  of  the  age,"  by  the  larger  jurisdiction,  the  general  public, 
the  same  praise  has  been  awarded.  Sunt  hie  etiam  sua  prcemia 
laudi.  That  which  I  had  the  honor  to  say  in  the  senate,  in 
the  session  of  1843,  in  a  discussion  concerning  this  treaty,  is 
true  and  applicable,  now  as  then.  "  Why  should  I,  or  why 
should  any  one,  assume  the  defence  of  a  treaty  here  in  this 
body,  which  but  just  now,  on  the  amplest  consideration,  in  the 
confidence  and  calmness  of  executive  session,  was  approv^ed  by 
a  vote  so  decisive  \  Sir,  the  country  by  a  vote  far  more  deci- 
sive, in  a  proportion  very  far  beyond  thirty-nine  to  nine,  has 
approved  your  approval.  Some  there  are,  some  few  —  I  speak 
not  now  of  any  member  of  this  senate  —  restless,  selfish,  reck- 
less, "  the  cankers  of  a  calm  world  and  a  long  peace,"  pining 
with  thirst  of  notoriety,  slaves  to  their  hatred  of  England,  to 
whom  the  treaty  is  distasteful ;  to  whom  any  treaty,  and  all 
things  but  the  glare  and  clamor,  the  vain  pomp  and  hollow 
circumstance  of  war  —  all  but  these  would  be  distasteful  and 
dreary.  But  the  country  is  with  you  in  this  act  of  wisdom 
and  glory ;  its  intelligence ;  its  morality  ;  its  labor ;  its  good 
men  ;  the  thoughtful ;  the  philanthropic  ;  the  discreet ;  the 
masses,  are  with  you."  "  It  confirms  the  purpose  of  the  wise 
and  good  of  both  nations  to  be  forever  at  peace  with  one 
another,  and  to  put  away  forever  all  war  from  the  kindred 
races  :  war  the  most  ridiculous  of  blunders  ;  the  most  tremen- 
dous of  crimes ;  the  most  comprehensive  of  evils." 

And  now  to  him  who  in  the  solitude  of  his  library  depre- 
ciates this  act,  first,  because  there  was  no  danger  of  a  war 
with  England,  I  answer  that  according  to  the  overwhelming 
weight  of  that  kind  of  evidence  by  wdiich  that  kind  of  question 
must  be  tried,  that  is  by  the  judgment  of  the  great  body  of 
well-informed  public  men  at  that  moment  in  congress  ;  in  the 


5£8  LECTURES   AND    ADDRESSES. 

government;  in  diplomatic  situation  —  our  relations  to  that 
power  had  become  so  delicate,  and  so  urgent,  that  unless  soon 
adjusted  by  negotiation,  there  was  real  danger  of  war.  Against 
such  evidence  what  is  the  value  of  the  speculation  of  a  private 
person,  ten  years  afterwards,  in  the  shade  of  his  general  studies, 
whatever  his  sagacity  ?  The  temper  of  the  border  population  ; 
the  tendencies  to  disorder  in  Canada,  stimulated  by  sympathiz- 
ers on  our  side  of  the  line  ;  the  entrance  on  our  territory  of  a 
British  armed  force  in  1837;  cutting  the  Caroline  out  of  her 
harbor,  and  sending  her  down  the  falls  ;  the  arrest  of  McLeod 
in  1841,  a  British  subject,  composing  part  of  that  force,  by  the 
government  of  New  York,  and  the  threat  to  hang  him,  which 
a  person  high  in  oftice  in  England  declared,  in  a  letter  which 
was  shown  to  me,  would  raise  a  cry  for  war  from  "  whig,  rad- 
ical, and  tory  "  which  no  ministry  could  resist ;  growing  irri- 
tation caused  by  the  search  of  our  vessels  under  color  of 
suppressing  the  slave-trade ;  the  long  controversy,  almost  as 
old  as  the  government,  about  the  boundary  line  —  so  conducted 
as  to  have  at  last  convinced  each  disputant  that  the  other  was 
fraudulent  and  insincere  ;  as  to  have  enlisted  the  pride  of 
States  ;  as  to  have  exasperated  ami  agitated  a  large  line  of 
border  ;  as  to  have  entered  finally  into  the  tactics  of  political 
parties,  and  the  schemes  of  ambitious  men,  out-bidding,  out- 
racing  one  another  in  a  competition  of  clamor  and  vehemence ; 
a  controversy  on  which  England,  a  European  monarchy,  a  first- 
class  power,  near  to  the  great  sources  of  the  opinion  of  the 
world,  by  her  press,  her  diplomacy,  her  universal  intercourse, 
had  taken  great  pains  to  persuade  Europe  that  our  claim  was 
groundless  and  unconscientious  —  all  these  things  announced 
to  near  observers  in  public  life  a  crisis  at  hand  which  demand- 
ed something  more  than  "  any  sensible  and  honest  man  "  to 
encounter  ;  assuring  some  glory  to  him  who  should  triumph 
over  it.  One  such  observer  said,  "  Men  stood  facing  each 
other  with  guns  on  their  shoulders,  upon  opposite  sides  of  ford- 
able  rivers,  thirty  yards  wide.  The  discharge  of  a  single 
musket  would  have  brought  on  a  war  whose  fires  would  have 
encircled  the  globe." 

Is  this  act  disparaged  next  because  what  each  party  had  for 
sixty  years  claimed  as  the  true  line  of  the  old  treaty  was  waived, 
a  fine  of  agreement  substituted,  and  equivalents  given  and  taken 


EULOGY   ON   DANIEL   WEBSTER.  ^QQ 

for  gain  or  loss  ?  But  herein  you  will  see  only,  what  the  na- 
tion has  seen,  the  boldness  as  well  as  sagacity  of  Mr.  Web- 
ster. When  the  award  of  the  king  of  the  Netherlands,  pro- 
posing a  line  of  agreement,  was  offered  to  President  Jackson, 
that  strong  will  dared  not  accept  it  in  face  of  the  party  politics 
of  Maine — although  he  advised  to  offer  her  the  value  of  a 
million  of  dollars  to  procure  her  assent  to  an  adjustment  which 
his  own  mind  approved.  What  he  dared  not  do,  inferred  some 
peril  I  suppose.  Yet  the  experience  of  twenty  years  —  of 
sixty  years  —  should  have  taught  all  men  —  had  taught  many 
who  shrank  from  acting  on  it,  that  the  Gordian  knot  must  be 
cut,  not  unloosed  ;  that  all  further  attempt  to  find  the  true  line 
must  be  abandoned  as  an  idle  and  a  perilous  diplomacy ;  and 
that  a  boundary  must  be  made  by  a  bargain  worthy  of  nations, 
or  must  be  traced  by  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  The  merit  of 
Mr.  Webster  is  first  that  he  dared  to  open  the  negotiation  on 
this  basis.  I  say  the  boldness.  For,  appreciate  the  domestic 
difficulties  which  attended  it.  In  its  nature  it  proposed  to  give 
up  something  which  we  had  thought  our  own  for  half  a  cen- 
tury ;  to  cede  of  the  territory  of  more  than  one  State ;  it  de- 
manded, therefore,  the  assent  of  those  States  by  formal  act, 
committing  the  State  parties  in  power  unequivocally ;  it  was 
to  be  undertaken  not  in  the  administration  of  Monroe  — 
elected  by  the  whole  people  —  not  in  the  administration  of 
Jackson,  whose  vast  popularity  could  carry  anything,  and  with- 
stand anything ;  but  just  when  the  death  of  President  Harri- 
son had  scattered  his  party ;  had  alienated  hearts ;  had  sev- 
ered ties  and  dissolved  connections  indispensable  to  the  strength 
of  administration,  creating  a  loud  call  on  Mr.  Webster  to  leave 
the  Cabinet  —  creating  almost  the  appearance  of  an  unwilling- 
ness that  he  should  contribute  to  its  glory  even  by  largest  ser- 
vice to  the  State. 

Yet  consider  finally  how  he  surmounted  every  difficulty. 
I  will  not  say  with  Lord  Palmerston,  in  parliament,  that  there 
was  "  nobody  in  England  who  did  not  admit  it  a  very  bad 
treaty  for  England."  But  I  may  repeat  what  I  said  on  it  in 
the  senate  in  1843.  "And  now,  what  does  the  world  see? 
An  adjustment  concluded  by  a  special  minister  at  Washing- 
ton, by  which  four  fifths  of  the  value  of  the  whole  subject  in 
controversy,  is  left  to  you  as  your  own  ;  and  by  which,  for 

VOL.  I.  45 


530  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

that  one  fifth  which  England  desires  to  possess,  she  pays  you 
over  and  over,  in  national  equivalents,  imperial  equivalents, 
such  as  a  nation  may  give,  such  as  a  nation  may  accept,  sat- 
isfactory to  your  interests,  soothing  to  your  honor, —  the  nav- 
igation of  the  St.  John,  —  a  concession  the  value  of  which 
nobody  disputes,  —  a  concession  not  to  Maine  alone,  but  to 
the  whole  country,  —  to  commerce,  to  navigation,  as  far  as 
vv^inds  blow  or  waters  roll,  —  an  equivalent  of  inappreciable 
value,  opening  an  ample  path  to  the  sea,  —  an  equivalent  in 
part  for  what  she  receives  of  the  territory  in  dispute,  —  a 
hundred  thousand  acres  in  New  Hampshire  ;  fifty  thousand 
acres  in  Vermont  and  New  York ;  the  point  of  land  com- 
manding the  great  military  way  to  and  fiom  Canada  by  Lake 
Champlain ;  the  fair  and  fertile  island  of  St.  George  ;  the 
surrender  of  a  pertinacious  pretension  to  four  milhons  of  acres 
westward  of  Lake  Superior.  Sir,  I  will  not  say  that  this  ad- 
justment admits,  or  was  designed  to  admit,  that  our  title  to 
the  whole  territory  in  controversy  was  perfect  and  indispu- 
table. I  will  not  do  so  much  injustice  to  the  accomplished 
and  excellent  person  who  represented  the  moderation  and  the 
good  sense  of  the  English  Government  and  people  in  this  ne- 
gotiation. I  cannot  adopt,  even  for  the  defence  of  a  treaty 
which  I  so  much  approve,  the  language  of  a  writer  in  the 
'  London  Morning  Chronicle  '  of  September  last,  —  who  has 
been  said  to  be  Lord  Palmerston,  —  which  over  and  over  as- 
serts, substantially  as  his  lordship  certainly  did  in  par- 
liament, that  the  adjustment  '  virtually  acknowledges  the 
American  claim  to  the  whole  of  the  disputed  territory,'  and 
that  '  it  gives  England  no  share  at  all,  —  absolutely  none ; 
for  the  capitulation  virtually  and  practically  yields  up  the 
whole  territory  to  the  United  States,  and  then  brings  back  a 
small  part  of  it  in  exchange  for  the  right  of  navigating  the 
St.  John.'  1  will  not  say  this.  But  I  say  first,  that  by  con- 
cession of  everybody  it  is  a  better  treaty  than  the  administra- 
tion of  President  Jackson  would  have  most  eagerly  concluded, 
if  by  the  offer  of  a  million  and  a  quarter  acres  of  land  they 
could  have  procured  the  assent  of  Maine  to  it.  That  treaty 
she  rejected ;  this  she  accepts ;  and  I  disparage  nobody  when 
I  maintain  that  on  all  parts  and  all  aspects  of  this  question,  — 
national  or  state,  military  or  industrial, — her  opinion  is  worth 


EULOGY  ON   DANIEL  WEBSTER.  531 

that  of  the  whole  country  beside.  I  say  next  that  the  treaty 
admits  the  substantial  justice  of  your  general  claim.  It  ad- 
mits that  in  its  utmost  extent  it  was  plausible,  formidable,  and 
made  in  pure  good  faith.  It  admits  before  the  nations  that 
we  have  not  been  rapacious  ;  have  not  made  false  clamor ; 
that  we  have  asserted  our  own,  and  obtained  our  own.  Ad- 
judging to  you  the  possession  of  four  fifths  indisputably,  she 
gives  you  for  the  one  fifth  which  you  concede,  equivalents, 
—  given  as  equivalents  —  eo  nomine^  —  on  purpose  to  soothe 
and  save  the  point  of  honor ;  whose  intrinsical  and  compar- 
ative value  is  such  that  you  may  accept  them  as  equivalents 
without  reproach  to  your  judgment,  or  your  firmness,  or  your 
good  faith,  —  whose  intrinsical  and  comparative  value,  tried  by 
the  maxims,  weighed  in  the  scales  of  imperial  traffic,  make 
them  a  compensation  over  and  over  again  for  all  we  concede." 

But  I  linger  too  long  upon  his  public  life,  and  upon  this 
one  of  its  great  acts.  With  what  profound  conviction  of  all 
the  difficulties  which  beset  it ;  with  what  anxieties  for  the 
issue,  hope  and  fear  alternately  preponderating,  he  entered  on 
that  extreme  trial  of  capacity  and  good  fortune,  and  carried  it 
through,  I  shall  not  soon  forget.  As  if  it  were  last  night,  I 
recall  the  time  when,  after  the  senate  had  ratified  it  in  an 
evening  executive  session  —  by  a  vote  of  thirty-nine  to  nine  — 
I  personally  carried  to  him  the  result,  at  his  own  house,  and  in 
presence  of  his  wife.  Then,  indeed,  the  measure  of  his  glory 
and  happiness  seemed  full.  In  the  exuberant  language  of 
Burke,  "  I  stood  near  him  ;  and  his  face,  to  use  the  expres- 
sion of  the  Scripture  of  the  first  martyr,  was  as  if  it  had  been 
the  face  of  an  angel.  '  Hope  elevated,  and  joy  brightened  his 
crest.'  I  do  not  know  how  others  feel ;  but  if  1  had  stood 
in  that  situation,  I  would  not  have  exchanged  it  for  all  that 
kings  or  people  could  bestow." 

Such  eminence  and  such  hold  on  the  public  mind  as  he 
attained  demands  extraordinary  general  intellectual  power, 
adequate  mental  culture,  an  impressive,  attractive,  energetic, 
and  great  character,  and  extraordinary  specific  power  also  of 
influencing  the  convictions  and  actions  of  others  by  speech. 
These  all  he  had. 

That  in  the  quality  of  pure  and  sheer  power  of  intellect 
he  was  of  the  first  class  of  men,  is,  I  think,  the  universal 


53<2  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

judgment  of  all  who  have  personally  witnessed  many  of  his 
higher  displays,  and  of  all  who  without  that  opportunity  have 
studied  his  life  in  its  actions  and  influences,  and  studied  his 
mind  in  its  recorded  thoughts.  Sometimes  it  has  seemed  to 
me  that  to  enable  one  to  appreciate  with  accuracy,  as  a  psy- 
chological speculation,  the  intrinsic  and  absolute  volume  and 
texture  of  that  brain,  —  the  real  rate  and  measure  of  those 
abilities, — it  was  better  not  to  see  or  hear  him,  mdess  you 
could  see  or  hear  him  frequently,  and  in  various  modes  of  ex- 
hibition ;  for  undoubtedly  there  was  something  in  his  counte- 
nance and  bearing  so  expressive  of  command,  —  something 
even  in  his  conversational  language  when  saying,  jiarva  sum- 
misse  et  moclica  temjyerate^  so  exquisitely  plausible,  embody- 
ing the  likeness  at  least  of  a  rich  truth,  the  forms  at  least  of 
a  large  generalization,  in  an  epithet,  —  an  antithesis,  —  a 
pointed  phrase,  —  a  broad  and  peremptory  thesis,  —  and 
something  in  his  grander  forth-putting,  when  roused  by  a 
great  subject  or  occasion  exciting  his  reason  and  touching  his 
moral  sentiments  and  his  heart,  so  difficult  to  be  resisted,  ap- 
proaching so  near,  going  so  far  beyond,  the  higher  style  of 
man ;  that  although  it  left  you  a  very  good  witness  of  his 
power  of  influencing  others,  you  were  not  in  the  best  condition 
immediately  to  pronounce  on  the  quality  or  the  source  of  the 
influence.  You  saw  the  flash  and  heard  the  peal,  and  felt  the 
admiration  and  fear ;  but  from  what  region  it  was  launched, 
and  by  what  divinity,  and  from  what  Olympian  seat,  you 
could  not  certainly  yet  tell.  To  do  that  you  must,  if  you  saw 
him  at  all,  see  him  many  times ;  compare  him  with  himself, 
and  with  others  ;  follow  his  dazzling  career  from  his  father's 
house ;  observe  from  what  competitors  he  won  those  laurels ; 
study  his  discourses,  —  study  them  by  the  side  of  those  of 
other  great  men  of  this  country  and  time,  and  of  other  coun- 
tries and  times,  conspicuous  in  the  same  fields  of  mental 
achievement,  —  look  through  the  crystal  water  of  the  style 
down  to  the  golden  sands  of  the  thought ;  analyze  and  con- 
trast intellectual  power  somewhat ;  consider  what  kind  and 
what  quantity  of  it  has  been  held  by  students  of  mind  needful 
in  order  to  great  eminence  in  the  higher  mathematics,  or  met- 
aphysics, or  reason  of  the  law ;  what  capacity  to  analyze, 
through  and  through,  to  the  primordial  elements  of  the  truths 


EULOGY   ON   DANIEL   WEBSTER.  533 

of  that  science ;  yet  what  wisdom  and  sobriety,  in  order  to 
control  the  wantonness  and  shun  the  absurdities  of  a  mere 
scholastic  logic,  by  systematizing  ideas,  and  combining  them, 
and  repressing  one  by  another,  thus  producing  —  not  a  collec- 
tion of  intense  and  conflicting  paradoxes,  but  —  a  code  —  sci- 
entifically coherent  and  practically  useful,  —  consider  what 
description  and  what  quantity  of  mind  have  been  held  needful 
by  students  of  mind  in  order  to  conspicuous  eminence  —  long 
maintained  —  in  statesmanship  ;  that  great  practical  science, 
that  great  philosophical  art,  whose  ends  are  the  existence,  hap- 
piness, and  honor  of  a  nation  ;  whose  truths  are  to  be  drawn 
from  the  widest  survey  of  man,  —  of  social  man,  —  of  the 
particular  race  and  particular  community  for  which  a  govern- 
ment is  to  be  made  or  kept,  or  a  policy  to  be  provided ; 
"  philosophy  in  action,"  demanding  at  once  or  affording  place 
for  the  highest  speculative  genius  and  the  most  skilful  conduct 
of  men  and  of  affairs ;  and  finally  consider  what  degree  and 
kind  of  mental  power  has  been  found  to  be  required  in  order 
to  influence  the  reason  of  an  audience  and  a  nation  by  speech, 

—  not  magnetizing  the  mere  nervous  or  emotional  nature  by 
an  effort  of  that  nature,  —  but  operating  on  reason  by  reason 

—  a  great  reputation  in  forensic  and  deliberative  eloquence, 
maintained  and  advancing  for  a  lifetime,  —  it  is  thus  that  we 
come  to  be  sure  that  his  intellectual  power  was  as  real  and  as 
uniform  as  its  very  happiest  particular  display  had  been  im- 
posing and  remarkable. 

It  was  not  quite  so  easy  to  analyze  that  power,  to  compare 
or  contrast  it  with  that  of  other  mental  celebrities,  and  show 
how  it  differed  or  resembled,  as  it  was  to  discern  its  existence. 

Whether  he  would  have  excelled  as  much  in  other  fields 
of  exertion  —  in  speculative  philosophy,  for  example,  in  any 
of  its  departments  —  is  a  problem  impossible  to  determine 
and  needless  to  move.  To  me  it  seems  quite  clear  that  the 
whole  wealth  of  his  powers,  his  whole  emotional  nature,  his 
eloquent  feeling,  his  matchless  capacity  to  affect  others'  con- 
duct by  affecting  their  practical  judgments,  could  not  have 
been  known,  could  not  have  been  poured  forth  in  a  stream 
so  rich  and  strong  and  full,  could  not  have  so  reacted  on 
and  aided  and  winged  the  mighty  intelligence,  in  any  other 
walk  of  mind,  or  life,  than  that  he  chose;  that  in  any  other 

45* 


534  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

there  must  have  been  some  disjoining  of  qualities  which  God 
had  united,  —  some  divorce  of  pure  intellect  from  the  helps 
or  hindrances  or  companionship  of  common  sense  and  beau- 
tiful genius  ;  and  that  in  any  field  of  speculative  ideas  but  half 
of  him,  or  part  of  him,  could  have  found  its  sphere.  What 
that  part  might  have  been  or  done,  it  is  vain  to  inquire. 

I  have  been  told  that  the  assertion  has  been  hazarded  that 
he  "was  great  in  understanding;  deficient  in  the  large  reason;" 
and  to  prove  this  distinction  he  is  compared  disadvantageously, 
with  "  Socrates  ;  Aristotle  ;  Plato  ;  Leibnitz  ;  Newton  ;  and 
Descartes."  If  this  means  that  he  did  not  devote  his  mind, 
such  as  it  was,  to  their  speculations,  it  is  true ;  but  that  would 
not  prove  that  he  had  not  as  much  "  higher  reason."  Where 
was  Bacon's  higher  7'eason  when  he  was  composing  his  reading 
on  the  Statute  of  Uses  1  Had  he  lost  it  %  or  was  he  only  not 
employing  it  I  or  was  he  employing  it  on  an  investigation  of 
law  ?  If  it  means  that  he  had  not  as  much  absolute  intel- 
lectual power  as  they,  or  could  not,  in  their  departments,  have 
done  what  they  did,  it  may  be  dismissed  as  a  dogma  incapable 
of  proof,  and  incapable  of  refutation  ;  ineffectual  as  a  dispar- 
agement ;  unphilosophical  as  a  comparison. 

It  is  too  common  with  those  who  come  from  the  reveries  of 
a  cloistered  speculation  to  judge  a  practical  life,  to  say  of 
him,  and  such  as  he,  that  they  "  do  not  enlarge  universal  law, 
and  first  principles  ;  and  philosophical  ideas  ;  "  that  "  they  add 
no  new  maxim  formed  by  induction  out  of  human  history  and 
old  thought."  In  this  there  is  some  truth ;  and  yet  it  totally 
fails  to  prove  that  they  do  not  possess  all  the  intellectual 
power,  and  all  the  specific  form  of  intellectual  power,  required 
for  such  a  description  of  achievement ;  and  it  totally  fails, 
too,  to  prove  that  they  do  not  use  it  quite  as  truly  to  "the 
glory  of  God,  and  the  bettering  of  man's  estate."  Whether 
they  possess  such  power  or  not,  the  evidence  does  not  disprove ; 
and  it  is  a  pedantic  dogmatism,  if  it  is  not  a  malignant  dogma- 
tism, which,  from  such  evidence,  pronounces  that  they  do  not ; 
but  it  is  doubtless  so,  that  by  an  original  bias ;  by  accidental 
circumstances  or  deliberate  choice,  he  determined  early  to 
devote  himself  to  a  practical  and  great  duty,  and  that  was  to 
uphold  a  recent,  delicate,  and  complex  political  system,  which 
his  studies,  his  sagacity,  taught  him,  as  Solon  learned,  was  the 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER.  535 

best  the  people  could  bear ;  to  uphold  it ;  to  adapt  its  essential 
principles  and  its  actual  organism  to  the  great  changes  of  his 
time  ;  the  enlarging  territory ;  enlarging  numbers  ;  sharper 
antagonisms  ;  mightier  passions ;  a  new  nationality  ;  and  un- 
der it,  and  by  means  of  it,  and  by  a  steady  government,  a  wise 
policy  of  business,  a  temperate  conduct  of  foreign  relations,  to 
enable  a  people  to  develop  their  resources,  and  fulfil  their  mis- 
sion. This  he  selected  as  his  work  on  earth  ;  this  his  task  ; 
this,  if  well  done,  his  consolation,  his  joy,  his  triumph  !  To 
this,  call  it,  in  comparison  with  the  meditations  of  philosophy, 
humble  or  high,  he  brought  all  the  vast  gifts  of  intellect,  what- 
ever they  were,  wherewith  God  had  enriched  him.  And  now, 
do  they  infer  that,  because  he  selected  such  a  work  to  do  he 
could  not  have  possessed  the  higher  form  of  intellectual  power ; 
or  do  they  say  that,  because,  having  selected  it,  he  performed  it 
with  a  masterly  and  uniform  sagacity  and  prudence  and  good 
sense,  using  ever  the  ap})ropriate  means  to  the  selected  end  ; 
that  therefore  he  could  not  have  possessed  the  higher  form  of 
intellectual  power  ]  Because  all  his  life  long  he  recognized 
that  his  vocation  was  that  of  a  statesman  and  a  jurist,  not  that 
of  a  thinker  and  dreamer  in  the  shade,  still  less  of  a  general 
agitator ;  that  his  duties  connected  themselves  mainly  with  an 
existing  stupendous  political  order  of  things,  to  be  kept  —  to 
be  adapted  with  all  possible  civil  discretion  and  temper  to  the 
growth  of  the  nation  —  but  by  no  means  to  be  exchanged  for 
any  quantity  of  amorphous  matter  in  the  form  of  "  universal 
law"  or  new  maxims  and  great  ideas  born  since  the  last 
change  of  the  moon  —  because  he  quite  habitually  spoke  the 
language  of  the  Constitution  and  the  law,  not  the  phraseology 
of  a  new  philosophy ;  confining  himself  very  much  to  incul- 
cating historical,  traditional,  and  indispensable  maxims,  — 
neutrality ;  justice  ;  good  faith ;  observance  of  fundamental 
compacts  of  Union  and  the  like  —  because  it  was  America  — 
our  America  —  he  sought  to  preserve,  and  to  set  forward  to 
her  glory  —  not  so  much  an  abstract  conception  of  humanity  — 
because  he  could  combine  many  ideas  ;  many  elements ;  many 
antagonisms  ;  in  a  harmonious,  and  noble  practical  politics,  in- 
stead of  fastening  on  one  only,  and  —  that  sure  sign  of  small 
or  perverted  ability  —  aggravating  it  to  disease  and  falsehood 
—  is  it  therefore  inferred  that  he  had  not  the  larger  form  of 
intellectual  power  1 


536  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

And  this  power  was  not  oppressed,  but  aided  and  accom- 
plished by  exercise  the  most  constant,  the  most  severe,  the 
most  stimulant,  and  by  a  force  of  will  as  remarkable  as  his 
genius,  and  by  adequate  mental  and  tasteful  culture.  How 
much  the  eminent  greatness  it  reached  is  due  to  the  various 
and  lofty  competition  to  which  he  brought,  if  he  could,  the 
most  careful  preparation  —  competition  with  adversaries  cum 
quihiis  certare  erat  gloriosius,  qiiam  omnino  adversarios  non 
habere^  cum  prwsertim  non  modo^  nunqiiam  sit  aut  illorum  ah 
ipso  cwsus  impeditus,  aut  ah  ipsis  suus,  sed  contra  semper 
alter  ah  altera  adjutus,  et  communicando,  et  monendo,  etfaven- 
do,  you  may  well  appreciate. 

I  claim  much,  too,  under  the  name  of  mere  mental  culture. 
Remark  his  style.  I  allow  its  full  weight  to  the  Horatian 
maxim,  scrihendi  recte  sapere  est  et  principium  et  fans,  and  I 
admit  that  he  had  deep  and  exquisite  judgment,  largely  of  the 
gift  of  God.  But  such  a  style  as  his  is  due  also  to  art,  to 
practice,  —  in  the  matter  of  style,  incessant,  —  to  great  exam- 
ples of  fine  writing,  turned  by  the  nightly  and  the  daily  hand ; 
to  Cicero,  through  whose  pellucid,  deep  seas  the  pearl  shows 
distinct  and  large  and  near,  as  if  within  the  arm's  reach ;  to 
Virgil,  whose  magic  of  words,  whose  exquisite  structure  and 
"  rich  economy  of  expression,"  no  other  writer  ever  equalled ; 
to  our  English  Bible,  and  especially  to  the  prophetical  writings, 
and  of  these  especially  to  Ezekiel,  of  some  of  whose  peculiari- 
ties, and  among  them  that  of  the  repetition  of  single  words  or 
phrases,  for  emphasis  and  impression,  a  friend  has  called  my 
attention  to  some  very  striking  illustrations ;  to  Shakspeare, 
of  the  style  of  whose  comic  dialogue  we  may,  in  the  language 
of  the  great  critic,  assert  "  that  it  is  that  which  in  the  English 
nation  is  never  to  become  obsolete,  a  certain  mode  of  phrase- 
ology so  consonant  and  congenial  to  analogy,  to  principles  of 
the  language,  as  to  remain  settled  and  unaltered,  —  a  style 
above  grossness,  below  modish  and  pedantic  forms  of  speech, 
where  propriety  resides ;  "  to  Addison,  whom  Johnson,  Mack- 
intosh, and  Macaulay  concur  to  put  at  the  head  of  all  fine 
writers,  for  the  amenity,  delicacy,  and  unostentatious  elegance 
of  his  English ;  to  Pope,  polished,  condensed,  sententious ;  to 
Johnson  and  Burke,  in  whom  all  the  affluence  and  all  the 
energy  of  our  tongue,  in  both  its  great  elements  of  Saxon  and 


EULOGY  ON   DANIEL  WEBSTER.  53y 

Latin,  might  be  exemplified ;  to  the  study  and  comparison,  but 
not  the  copying",  of  authors  such  as  these ;  to  habits  of  writing 
and  speaking  and  conversing  on  the  capital  theory  of  always 
doing  his  best,  —  thus,  somewhat,  I  think,  was  acquired  that 
remarkable  production,  "  the  last  work  of  combined  study  and 
genius,"  his  rich,  clear,  correct,  harmonious,  and  weighty  style 
of  prose. 

Beyond  these  studies  and  exercises  of  taste,  he  had  read 
variously  and  judiciously.  If  any  public  man,  or  any  man, 
had  more  thoroughly  mastered  British  constitutional  and  gen- 
eral history,  or  the  history  of  British  legislation,  or  could 
deduce  the  progress,  eras,  causes,  and  hindrances  of  British 
liberty  in  more  prompt,  exact,  and  copious  detail,  or  had  in  his 
memory,  at  any  given  moment,  a  more  ample  political  biogra- 
phy, or  political  literature,  I  do  not  know  him.  His  library  of 
English  history,  and  of  all  history,  was  always  rich,  select, 
and  catholic;  and  I  well  recollect  hearing  him,  in  1819,  while 
attending  a  commencement  of  this  College,  at  an  evening  party, 
sketch,  with  great  emphasis  and  interest  of  manner,  the  merits 
of  George  Buchanan,  the  historian  of  Scotland,  —  his  Latinity 
and  eloquence  almost  equal  to  Livy's,  his  love  of  liberty  and 
his  genius  greater,  and  his  title  to  credit  not  much  worse. 
American  history  and  American  political  literature  he  had  by 
heart.  The  long  series  of  influences  that  trained  us  for  repre- 
sentative and  free  government ;  that  other  series  of  influences 
which  moulded  us  into  a  united  government,  —  the  colonial 
era,  the  age  of  controversy  before  the  Revolution  ;  every  scene 
and  every  person  in  that  great  tragic  action,  the  age  of  con- 
troversy following  the  Revolution  and  preceding  the  Constitu- 
tion, unlike  the  earlier,  in  which  we  divided  among  ourselves 
on  the  greatest  questions  which  can  engage  the  mind  of  Amer- 
ica,—  the  questions  of  the  existence  of  a  national  gov^ernment, 
of  the  continued  existence  of  the  State  governments,  on  the 
partition  of  powers,  on  the  umpirage  of  disputes  betw^een 
them,  —  a  controversy  on  which  the  destiny  of  the  New 
World  was  staked ;  every  problem  which  has  successively 
engaged  our  politics,  and  every  name  which  has  figured  in 
them,  —  the  whole  stream  of  our  time  was  open,  clear,  and 
present  ever  to  his  eye. 

I  think,  too,  that,  though  not  a  frequent  and  ambitious  citer 


538  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

of  authorities,  he  had  read,  in  the  course  of  the  study  of  his 
profession  or  pohtics,  and  had  meditated  all  the  great  writers 
and  thinkers  hy  whom  the  principles  of  republican  government, 
and  all  free  governments,  are  most  authoritatively  expounded. 
Aristotle,  Cicero,  Machiavel,  —  one  of  whose  discourses  on 
Livy  maintains,  in  so  masterly  an  argument,  how  much  wiser 
and  more  constant  are  the  people  than  the  prince,  a  doctrine  of 
liberty  consolatory  and  full  of  joy, —  Harrington,  Milton,  Sid- 
ney, Locke,  I  know  he  had  read  and  weighed. 

Other  classes  of  information  there  were,  —  partly  obtained 
from  books,  partly  from  observation,  to  some  extent  referable 
to  his  two  main  employments  of  politics  and  law, — by  which 
he  was  distinguished  remarkably.  Thus,  nobody  but  was 
struck  with  his  knowledge  of  civil  and  physical  geography, 
and,  to  a  less  extent,  of  geology  and  races  ;  of  all  the  great 
routes  and  marts  of  our  foreign,  coastwise,  and  interior  com- 
merce, the  subjects  which  it  exchanges,  the  whole  circle  of 
industry  it  comprehends  and  passes  around;  the  kinds  of  our 
mechanical  and  manufacturing  productions,  and  their  relations 
to  all  labor  and  life  ;  the  history,  theories,  and  practice  of 
agriculture,  —  our  own  and  that  of  other  countries,  —  and  its 
relations  to  government,  liberty,  happiness,  and  the  character 
of  nations.  This  kind  of  information  enriched  and  assisted  all 
his  public  efforts ;  but  to  appreciate  the  variety  and  accuracy 
of  his  knowledge,  and  even  the  true  compass  of  his  mind,  you 
must  have  had  some  familiarity  with  his  friendly  written  cor- 
respondence, and  you  must  have  conversed  with  him  with  some 
degree  of  freedom.  There,  more  than  in  senatorial  or  forensic 
debate,  gleamed  the  true  riches  of  his  genius,  as  well  as  the 
goodness  of  his  large  heart,  and  the  kindness  of  his  noble 
nature.  There,  with  no  longer  a  great  part  to  discharge,  no 
longer  compelled  to  weigh  and  measure  propositions,  to  tread 
the  dizzy  heights  which  part  the  antagonisms  of  the  Constitu- 
tion, to  put  aside  allusions  and  illustrations  which  crowded  on 
his  mind  in  action,  but  which  the  dignity  of  a  public  appear- 
ance had  to  reject,  in  the  confidence  of  hospitality,  which  ever 
he  dispensed  as  a  prince  who  also  was  a  friend,  his  memory, 
—  one  of  his  most  extraordinary  faculties,  quite  in  proportion 
to  all  the  rest,  —  swept  free  over  the  readings  and  labors  of 
more  than  half  a  century  ;  and  then,  allusions,  direct  and  ready 


EULOGY  ON   DANIEL  WEBSTER.  539 

quotations,  a  passing,  mature  criticism,  sometimes  only  a  recol- 
lection of  the  mere  emotions  which  a  glorious  passage  or  inter- 
esting event  had  once  excited,  darkening  for  a  moment  the 
face  and  filling  the  eye,  often  an  instructive  exposition  of  a 
current  maxim  of  philosophy  or  politics,  the  history  of  an 
invention,  the  recital  of  some  incident  casting  a  new  light  on 
some  transaction  or  some  institution,  —  this  flow  of  unstudied 
conversation,  quite  as  remarkable  as  any  other  exhibition  of  his 
mind,  better  than  any  other,  perhaps,  at  once  opened  an  unex- 
pected glimpse  of  his  various  acquirements,  and  gave  you  to 
experience,  delightedly,  that  the  "  mild  sentiments  have  their 
eloquence  as  well  as  the  stormy  passions." 

There  must  be  added,  next,  the  element  of  an  impressive 
character,  inspiring  regard,  trust,  and  admiration,  not  unmin- 
gled  with  love.  It  had,  I  think,  intrinsically  a  charm  such  as 
belongs  only  to  a  good,  noble,  and  beautiful  nature.  In  its 
combination  with  so  much  fame,  so  much  force  of  will,  and 
so  much  intellect,  it  filled  and  fascinated  the  imagination  and 
heart.  It  was  affectionate  in  childhood  and  youth,  and  it  was 
more  than  ever  so  in  the  few  last  months  of  his  long  life.  It  is 
the  universal  testimony  that  he  gave  to  his  parents,  in  largest 
measure,  honor,  love,  obedience ;  that  he  eagerly  appropriated 
the  first  means  which  he  could  command  to  relieve  the  father 
from  the  debts  contracted  to  educate  his  brother  and  himself; 
that  he  selected  his  first  place  of  professional  practice  that  he 
might  soothe  the  coming  on  of  his  old  age ;  that  all  through 
life  he  neglected  no  occasion,  —  sometimes  when  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  a  friend,  alone,  with  faltering  voice,  sometimes  in 
the  presence  of  great  assemblies,  where  the  tide  of  general 
emotion  made  it  graceful,  —  to  express  his  "  affectionate  ven- 
eration of  him  who  reared  and  defended  the  log  cabin  in  which 
his  elder  brothers  and  sisters  were  born,  against  savage  violence 
and  destruction,  cherished  all  the  domestic  virtues  beneath  its 
roof,  and,  through  the  fire  and  blood  of  some  years  of  revolu- 
tionary war,  shrank  from  no  danger,  no  toil,  no  sacrifice,  to 
serve  his  country,  and  to  raise  his  children  to  a  condition  bet- 
ter than  his  own." 

Equally  beautiful  was  his  love  of  all  his  kindred  and  of  all 
his  friends.  When  I  hear  him  accused  of  selfishness,  and  a 
cold,  bad  nature,  I  recall  him   lying  sleepless  all  night,  not 


540  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

without  tears  of  boyhood,  conferring  with  Ezekiel  how  the 
darling-  desire  of  both  hearts  should  be  compassed,  and  he, 
too,  admitted  to  the  precious  privileges  of  education ;  coura- 
geously pleading  the  cause  of  both  brothers  in  the  morning ; 
prevailing  by  the  wise  and  discerning  affection  of  the  mother ; 
suspending  his  studies  of  the  law,  and  registering  deeds  and 
teaching  school  to  earn  the  means,  for  both,  of  availing  them- 
selves of  the  opportunity  which  the  parental  self-sacrifice  had 
placed  within  their  reach ;  loving  him  through  life,  mourning 
him  when  dead,  with  a  love  and  a  sorrow  very  wonderful,  pass- 
ing the  sorrow  of  woman ;  I  recall  the  husband,  the  father  of 
the  living  and  of  the  early  departed,  the  friend,  the  counsellor 
of  many  years,  and  my  heart  grows  too  full  and  liquid  for  the 
refutation  of  words. 

His  affectionate  nature,  craving  ever  friendship,  as  well  as 
the  presence  of  kindred  blood,  diffused  itself  through  all  his 
private  life,  gave  sincerity  to  all  his  hospitalities,  kindness  to 
his  eye,  warmth  to  the  pressure  of  his  hand ;  made  his  great- 
ness and  genius  luibend  themselves  to  the  playfulness  of  child- 
hood, flowed  out  in  graceful  memories  indulged  of  the  past  or 
the  dead,  of  incidents  when  life  was  young  and  promised  to  be 
happy,  —  gave  generous  sketches  of  his  rivals,  —  the  high 
contention  now  hidden  by  the  handful  of  earth, — hours  passed 
fifty  years  ago  with  great  authors,  recalled  for  the  vernal  emo- 
tions which  then  they  made  to  live  and  revel  in  the  soul.  And 
from  these  conversations  of  friendship,  no  man,  —  no  man,  old 
or  young, —  went  away  to  remember  one  word  of  profaneness, 
one  allusion  of  indelicacy,  one  impure  thought,  one  unbelieving 
suggestion,  one  doubt  cast  on  the  reality  of  virtue,  of  patriot- 
ism, of  enthusiasm,  of  the  progress  of  man,  —  one  doubt  cast 
on  righteousness,  or  temperance,  or  judgment  to  come. 

Every  one  of  his  tastes  and  recreations  announced  the  same 
type  of  character.  His  love  of  agriculture,  of  sports  in  the 
open  air,  of  the  outward  world  in  starlight  and  storms,  and 
sea  and  boundless  wilderness,  —  partly  a  result  of  the  influ- 
ences of  the  first  fourteen  years  of  his  life,  perpetuated  like  its 
other  affections  and  its  other  lessons  of  a  mother's  love  —  the 
Psalms,  the  Bible,  the  stories  of  the  wars,  —  partly  the  return 
of  an  unsophisticated  and  healthful  nature,  tiring,  for  a  space, 
of  the  idle  business  of  political  life,  its  distinctions,  its  arti- 


EULOGY   ON   DANIEL   WEBSTER.  541 

ficialities,  to  employments,  to  sensations  which  interest  without 
agitating  the  universal  race  alike,  as  God  has  framed  it,  in 
which  one  feels  himself  only  a  man,  fashioned  from  the  earth, 
set  to  till  it,  appointed  to  return  to  it,  yet  made  in  the  image  of 
his  Maker,  and  with  a  spirit  that  shall  not  die,  —  all  displayed 
a  man  whom  the  most  various  intercourse  with  the  world,  the 
longest  career  of  strife  and  honors,  the  consciousness  of  intel- 
lectual supremacy,  the  coming  in  of  a  wide  fame,  constantly 
enlarging,  left,  as  he  was  at  first,  natural,  simple,  manly, 
genial,  kind. 

You  will  all  concur,  I  think,  with  a  learned  friend  who  thus 
calls  my  attention  to  the  resemblance  of  his  character,  in  some 
of  tliese  particulars,  to  that  of  Walter  Scott. 

"  Nature  endowed  both  with  athletic  frames,  and  a  noble 
presence ;  both  passionately  loved  rural  life,  its  labors  and 
sports ;  possessed  a  manly  simplicity,  free  from  all  affectation, 
genial  and  social  tastes,  full  minds,  and  happy  elocution  ;  both 
stamped  themselves  with  indelible  marks  upon  the  age  in 
which  they  lived ;  both  were  laborious,  and  always  with  high 
and  virtuous  aims,  ardent  in  patriotism,  overflowing  with  love 
of  'kindred  blood,'  and,  above  all,  frank  and  unostentatious 
Christians." 

_  I  have  learned  by  evidence  the  most  direct  and  satisfactory, 
that  in  the  last  months  of  his  life,  the  whole  aflfectionateness  of 
his  nature  ;  his  consideration  of  others  ;  his  gentleness  ;  his  de- 
sire to  make  them  happy  and  to  see  them  happy,  seemed  to  come 
out  in  more  and  more  beautifyl  and  habitual  expression  than 
ever  before.  The  long  day's  public  tasks  were  felt  to  be  done  ; 
the  cares,  the  uncertainties,  the  mental  conflicts  of  high  place, 
were  ended  ;  and  he  came  home  to  recover  himself  for  the  few 
years  which  he  might  still  expect  would  be  his  before  he  should 
go  hence  to  be  here  no  more.  And  there,  I  am  assured  and 
fully  believe,  no  unbecoming  regrets  pursued  him  ;  no  discon- 
tent, as  for  injustice  suffered  or  expectations  unfulfilled ;  no  self- 
reproach  for  anything  done  or  anything  omitted  by  himself; 
no  irritation,  no  peevishness  unworthy  of  his  noble  nature  ;  but 
instead,  love  and  hope  for  his  country,  when  she  became  the 
subject  of  conversation  ;  and  for  all  around  him,  the  dearest 
and  most  indifferent,  for  all  breathing  things  about  him,  the 
overflow  of  the  kindest  heart  growing  in  gentleness  and  benev- 

VOL.  I.  46 


54.;^  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

olence ;  paternal,  patriarchal  affections,  seeming-  to  become 
more  natural,  warm,  and  communicative  every  hour.  Softer 
and  yet  brighter  grew  the  tints  on  the  sky  of  parting  day  ; 
and  the  last  lingering  rays,  more  even  than  the  glories  of 
noon,  announced  how  divine  was  the  source  from  which  they 
proceeded ;  how  incapable  to  be  quenched ;  how  certain  to 
rise  on  a  morning  which  no  niglit  should  follow. 

Such  a  character  was  made  to  be  loved.  It  was  loved. 
Those  who  knew  and  saw  it  in  its  hour  of  calm  —  those  who 
could  repose  on  that  soft  green,  loved  him.  His  plain  neigh- 
bors loved  him  ;  and  one  said,  when  he  was  laid  in  his  grave, 
"  How  lonesome  the  world  seems  !  "  Educated  young  men 
loved  him.  The  ministers  of  the  gospel,  tlie  general  intelli- 
gence of  the  country,  the  masses  afar  off,  loved  him.  True, 
they  had  not  found  in  his  speeches,  read  by  millions,  so  much 
adulation  of  the  people  ;  so  much  of  the  music  which  robs 
the  public  reason  of  itself;  so  many  phrases  of  humanity  and 
philanthropy  ;  and  some  had  told  them  he  was  lofty  and  cold, 
—  solitary  in  his  greatness ;  but  every  year  they  came  nearer 
and  nearer  to  him,  and  as  they  came  nearer,  they  loved  him 
better  ;  they  heard  how  tender  the  son  had  been,  the  husband, 
the  brother,  the  father,  the  friend,  and  neighbor  ;  that  he  was 
plain,  simple,  natural,  generous,  hospitable,  —  the  heart  larger 
than  the  brain  ;  that  he  loved  little  children  and  reverenced 
God,  the  Scriptures,  the  Sabbath-day,  the  Constitution,  and 
the  law,  —  and  their  hearts  clave  unto  him.  More  truly  of 
him  than  even  of  the  great  naval  darling  of  England  might 
it  be  said,  that  "  his  presence  would  set  the  church-bells  ring- 
ing, and  give  school-boys  a  holiday,  —  would  bring  children 
from  school  and  old  men  from  the  chimney-corner,  to  gaze 
on  him  ere  he  died."  The  great  and  unavailing  lamentation 
first  revealed  the  deep  place  he  had  in  the  hearts  of  his  coun- 
trymen. 

You  are  now  to  add  to  this  his  extraordinary  power  of  influ- 
encing the  convictions  of  others  by  speech,  and  you  have  con> 
pleted  the  survey  of  the  means  of  his  greatness.  And  here, 
again,  I  begin,  by  admiring  an  aggregate,  made  up  of  excel- 
lences and  triumphs,  ordinarily  deemed  incompatible.  He 
spoke  with  consummate  ability  to  the  bench,  and  yet  exactly  as, 
according  to  every  sound  canon  of  taste  and  ethics,  the  bench 


EULOGY  ON    DANIEL  WEBSTER.  543 

ought  to  be  addressed.  He  spoke  with  consummate  ability  to 
the  jury,  and  yet  exactly  as,  according  to  every  sound  canon, 
that  totally  different  tribunal  ought  to  be  addressed.  In  the 
halls  of  congress,  before  the  people  assembled  for  political  dis- 
cussion in  masses,  before  audiences  smaller  and  more  select, 
assembled  for  some  solemn  commemoration  of  the  past  or  of 
the  dead,  —  in  each  of  these,  again,  his  speech,  of  the  first 
form  of  ability,  was  exactly  adapted,  also,  to  the  critical  pro- 
prieties of  the  place ;  each  achieved,  when  delivered,  the  most 
instant  and  specific  success  of  eloquence,  —  some  of  them  in 
a  splendid  and  remarkable  degree ;  and  yet,  stranger  still, 
when  reduced  to  writing,  as  they  fell  from  his  lips,  they  com- 
pose a  body  of  reading,  —  in  many  volumes,  —  solid,  clear, 
rich,  and  full  of  harmony,  —  a  classical  and  permanent  politi- 
cal literature. 

And  yet,  all  these  modes  of  his  eloquence,  exactly  adapted 
each  to  its  stage  and  its  end,  were  stamped  with  his  image  and 
superscription,  identified  by  characteristics  incapable  to  be  coun- 
terfeited, and  impossible  to  be  mistaken.  The  same  high  power 
of  reason,  intent  in  every  one  to  explore  and  display  some  truth; 
some  truth  of  judicial,  or  historical,  or  biographical  fact ;  some 
truth  of  law,  deduced  by  construction,  perhaps,  or  by  illation  ; 
some  truth  of  policy,  for  want  whereof  a  nation,  generations, 
may  be  the  worse,  —  reason  seeking  and  unfolding  truth  ;  the 
same  tone,  in  all,  of  deep  earnestness,  expressive  of  strong 
desire  that  that  which  he  felt  to  be  important  should  be  accept- 
ed as  true,  and  spring  up  to  action  ;  the  same  transparent,  plain, 
forcilde,  and  direct  speech,  conveying  his  exact  thought  to  the 
mind,  —  not  something  less  or  more ;  the  same  sovereignty  of 
form,  of  brow,  and  eye,  and  tone,  and  manner,  —  everywhere 
the  intellectual  king  of  men,  standing  before  you,  —  that  same 
marvellousness  of  qualities  and  results,  residing,  I  know  not 
where,  in  words,  in  pictures,  in  the  ordering  of  ideas,  in  felici- 
ties indescribable,  by  means  whereof,  coming  from  his  tongue, 
all  things  seemed  mended,  —  truth  seemed  more  true,  proba- 
bility more  plausible,  greatness  more  grand,  goodness  more 
awful,  every  affection  more  tender,  than  when  coming  from 
other  tongues,  —  these  are,  in  all,  his  eloquence.  But  some- 
times it  became  individualized,  and  discriminated  even  from 
itself;  sometimes  place  and  circumstances,  great  interests  at 


544  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

stake,  a  stage,  an  audience  fitted  for  the  highest  historic  action, 
a  crisis,  personal  or  national,  upon  him,  stirred  the  depths  of 
that  emotional  nature,  as  the  auger  of  the  goddess  stirs  the  sea 
on  which  the  great  epic  is  beginning  ;  strong  passions,  them- 
selves kindled  to  intensity,  quickened  every  faculty  to  a  new 
life  ;  the  stimulated  associations  of  ideas  brought  all  treasures 
of  thought  and  knowledge  within  command,  the  spell,  which 
often  held  his  imagination  fast,  dissolved,  and  she  arose  and 
gave  him  to  choose  of  her  urn  of  gold  ;  earnestness  became 
vehemence,  the  simple,  perspicuous,  measured,  and  direct  lan- 
guage became  a  headlong,  full,  and  burning  tide  of  speech  ; 
the  discourse  of  reason,  wisdom,  gravity,  and  beauty,  changed 
to  that  Acij/oTTys,  that  rarest  cousununate  eloquence,  —  grand, 
rapid,  pathetic,  terrible ;  the  aliquid  immensum  infinitumque 
that  Cicero  might  have  recognized  ;  the  master  triumph  of 
man  in  the  rarest  opportunity  of  his  noblest  power. 

Such  elevation  above  himself,  in  congressional  debate,  was 
most  unconnnon.  Some  such  there  were  in  the  great  discus- 
sions of  executive  power  following  the  removal  of  the  deposits, 
which  they  who  heard  them  will  never  forget,  and  some  which 
rest  in  the  tradition  of  hearers  only.  But  there  were  other 
fields  of  oratory  on  which,  under  the  influence  of  more  un- 
colmmon  springs  of  inspiration,  he  exemplified,  in  still  other 
forms,  an  eloquence  in  which  I  do  not  know  that  he  has  had 
a  superior  among  men.  Addressing  masses  by  tens  of  thou- 
sands in  the  open  air,  on  the  urgent  political  questions  of  the 
day,  or  designated  to  lead  the  meditations  of  an  hour  devoted 
to  the  remembrance  of  some  national  era,  or  of  some  incident 
marking  the  progress  of  the  nation,  and  lifting  him  up  to  a 
view  of  what  is,  and  what  is  past,  and  some  indistinct  revela- 
tion of  the  glory  that  lies  in  the  future,  or  of  some  great  his- 
torical name,  just  borne  by  the  nation  to  his  tomb,  —  we  have 
learned  that  then  and  there,  at  the  base  of  Bunker  Hill,  before 
the  corner-stone  was  laid,  and  again  w^hen  from  the  finished 
column  the  centuries  looked  on  him  ;  in  Faneuil  Hall, 
mourning  for  those  with  whose  spoken  or  written  eloquence 
of  freedom  its  arches  had  so  often  resounded ;  on  the  rock  of 
Plymouth  ;  before  the  capitol,  of  which  there  shall  not  be  one 
stone  left  on  another,  before  his  memory  shall  have  ceased  to 
live,  —  in  such  scenes,  unfettered  by  the  laws  of  forensic  or 


EULOGY  ON   DANIEL  WEBSTER.  34,5 

parliamentary  debate;  multitudes  uncounted  lifting-  up  their 
eyes  to  him  ;  some  great  historical  scenes  of  America  around; 
all  symbols  of  her  glory  and  art  and  power  and  fortune 
there ;  voices  of  the  past,  not  unheard ;  shapes  beckoning 
from  the  future,  not  unseen, — sometimes  that  mighty  intellect, 
borne  upwards  to  a  height  and  kindled  to  an  illumination 
which  we  shall  see  no  more,  wrought  out,  as  it  were,  in  an 
instant,  a  picture  of  vision,  warning,  prediction ;  the  progress 
of  the  nation  ;  the  contrasts  of  its  eras  ;  the  heroic  deaths ; 
the  motives  to  patriotism  ;  the  maxims  and  arts  imperial  by 
\A'hich  th.e  glory  has  been  gathered  and  may  be  heightened,  — 
wrought  out,  in  an  instant,  a  picture  to  fade  only  when  all 
record  of  our  mind  shall  die. 

In  looking  over  the  public  remains  of  his  oratory,  it  is 
striking  to  remark  how,  even  in  that  most  sober  and  massive 
understanding  and  nature,  you  see  gathered  and  expressed  the 
characteristic  sentiments  and  the  passing  time  of  our  America. 
It  is  the  strong  old  oak  which  ascends  before  you;  yet -our 
soil,  our  heaven,  are  attested  in  it  as  perfectly  as  if  it  were  a 
flower  that  could  grow  in  no  other  climate  and  in  no  other 
hour  of  the  year  or  day.  Let  me  instance  in  one  thing  only. 
It  is  a  peculiarity  of  some  schools  of  eloquence  that  they  em- 
body and  utter,  not  merely  the  individual  genius  and  charac- 
ter of  the  speaker,  but  a  national  consciousness,  —  a  national 
era,  a  mood,  a  hope,  a  dread,  a  despair,  —  in  which  you  listen 
to  the  spoken  history  of  the  time.  There  is  an  eloquence  of 
an  expiring  nation,  such  as  seems  to  sadden  the  glorious 
speech  of  Demosthenes  ;  such  as  breathes  grand  and  gloomy 
from  the  visions  of  the  prophets  of  the  last  days  of  Israel  and 
Judah ;  such  as  gave  a  spell  to  the  expression  of  Grattan  and 
of  Kossuth,  —  the  sweetest,  most  mournful,  most  awful  of 
the  words  which  man  may  utter,  or  which  man  may  hear, —  the 
eloquence  of  a  perishing  nation.  There  is  another  eloquence, 
in  which  the  national  consciousness  of  a  young  or  renewed 
and  vast  strength,  of  trust  in  a  dazzling,  certain,  and  limit- 
less future,  an  inward  glorying  in  victories  yet  to  be  won, 
sounds  out  as  by  voice  of  clarion,  challenging  to  contest  for 
the  highest  prize  of  earth  ;  such  as  that  in  which  the  leader 
of  Israel  in  its  first  days  holds  up  to  the  new  nation  the  Land 
of  Promise  ;  such  as  that  which  in  the  well  imagined  speeches 

46* 


54-6  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

scattered  by  Livy  over  the  history  of  the  "  majestic  series  of 
victories,"  speaks  the  Rouum  consciousness  of  growing-  ag- 
grandizement which  should  subject  the  world ;  such  as  that 
through  which,  at  the  tribunes  of  her  revolution,  in  the  bul- 
letins of  her  rising  soldier,  France  told  to  the  world  her  dream 
of  glory.  And  of  this  kind  somewhat  is  ours  ;  cheerful, 
hopeful,  trusting,  as  befits  youth  and  spring  ;  the  eloquence  of 
a  State  beginning  to  ascend  to  the  first  class  of  power,  em- 
inence, and  consideration,  and  conscious  of  itself.  It  is  to  no 
purpose  that  they  tell  you  it  is  in  bad  taste ;  that  it  partakes 
of  arrogance  and  vanity  ;  that  a  true  national  good  breeding 
would  not  know,  or  seem  to  know,  whether  the  nation  is  old 
or  young  ;  whether  the  tides  of  being  are  in  their  flow  or 
ebb ;  whether  these  coursers  of  the  sun  are  sinking  slowly  to 
rest,  wearied  with  a  journey  of  a  thousand  years,  or  just 
bounding  from  the  Orient  unbreathed.  Higher  laws  than 
those  of  taste  determine  the  consciousness  of  nations.  Higher 
laws  than  those  of  taste  determine  the  general  forms  of  the 
expression  of  that  consciousness.  Let  the  downward  age  of 
America  find  its  orators  and  poets  and  artists  to  erect  its 
spirit,  or  grace  and  soothe  its  dying  ;  be  it  ours  to  go  up  with 
Webster  to  the  rock,  the  monument,  the  capitol,  and  bid  "  the 
distant  generations  hail !  " 

In  this  connection  remark,  somewhat  more  generally,  to 
how  extraordinary  an  extent  he  had  by  his  acts,  words, 
thoughts,  or  the  events  of  his  life, "  associated  himself  for- 
ever in  the  memory  of  all  of  us,  with  every  historical  in- 
cident, or  at  least  with  every  historical  epoch  ;  with  every 
policy ;  with  every  glory ;  with  every  great  name  and  fun- 
damental institution,  and  grand  or  beautiful  image,  uhich 
are  peculiarly  and  properly  American.  Look  backwards  to 
the  planting  of  Plymouth  and  Jamestown ;  to  the  various 
scenes  of  colonial  life  in  peace  and  war ;  to  the  opening  and 
march  and  close  of  the  revolutionary  drama, — to  the  age  of 
the  Constitution ;  to  Washington  and  Franklin  and  Adams 
and  Jefferson  ;  to  the  whole  train  of  causes  from  the  Refor- 
mation downwards,  which  prepared  us  to  be  Republicans  ; 
to  that  other  train  of  causes  which  led  us  to  be  Unionists, 
—  look  round  on  field,  workshop,  and  deck,  and  hear  the 
music  of  labor  rewarded,  fed,  and  protected,  —  look  on   the 


EULOGY  ON   DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


547 


bright  sisterhood  of  the  States,  each  singing  as  a  seraph  in 
her  motion,  yet  blending  in  a  common  beam  and  swelHng  a 
common  harmony,  —  and  there  is  nothing  which  does  not 
bring  him  by  some  tie  to  the  memory  of  America. 

We  seem  to  see  his  form  and  hear  his  deep  grave  speech 
everywhere.  By  some  fehcity  of  his  personal  life  ;  by  some 
wise,  deep,  or  beautiful  word  spoken  or  written  ;  by  some  ser- 
vice of  his  own,  or  some  commemoration  of  the  services  of 
others,  it  has  come  to  pass  that  "  our  granite  hills,  our  inland 
seas  and  prairies,  and  fresh,  unbounded,  magnificent  wilder- 
ness ;  "  our  encircling  ocean ;  the  resting-place  of  the  Pil- 
grims ;  our  new-born  sister  of  the  Pacific ;  our  popular  as- 
semblies ;  our  free  schools ;  all  our  cherished  doctrines  of 
education,  and  of  the  influence  of  religion,  and  material  pol- 
icy and  law,  and  the  Constitution,  give  us  back  his  name. 
What  American  landscape  will  you  look  on ;  what  subject  of 
American  interest  will  you  study;  what  source  of  hope  or  of 
anxiety,  as  an  American,  will  you  acknowledge  that  it  does 
not  recall  him  ^ 

I  have  reserved,  until  I  could  treat  it  as  a  separate  and  final 
topic,  the  consideration  of  the  morality  of  Mr.  Webster's 
public  character  and  life.  To  his  true  fame,  —  to  the  kind 
and  degree  of  influence  which  that  large  series  of  great 
actions  and  those  embodied  thoughts  of  great  intellect  are 
to  exert  on  the  future,  —  this  is  the  all-important  considera- 
tion. In  the  last  speech  which  he  made  in  the  senate, — 
the  last  of  those  which  he  made,  as  he  said,  for  the  Con- 
stitution and  the  Union,  and  which  he  might  have  com- 
mended, as  Bacon  his  name  and  memory  "  to  men's  char- 
itable speeches,  to  foreign  nations,  and  the  next  ages," — yet 
with  a  better  hope  he  asserted,  "  The  ends  I  aim  at  shall 
be  those  of  my  Country,  my  God,  and  Truth."  Is  that 
praise  his  ^ 

Until  the  seventh  day  of  March,  1850,  I  think  it  would 
have  been  accorded  to  him  by  an  almost  universal  acclaim, 
as  general  and  as  expressive  of  profound  and  intelligent  con- 
viction, and  of  enthusiasm,  love,  and  trust,  as  ever  saluted 
conspicuous  statesmanship,  —  tried  by  many  crises  of  affairs 
in  a  great  nation,  agitated  ever  by  parties,  and  wholly  free. 

That  he  had  admitted  into  his  heart  a  desire  to  win,  by 


54<8  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

deserving-  them,  the  highest  forms  of  public  honor,  many- 
would  have  said ;  and  they  who  loved  him  most  fondly,  and 
felt  the  truest  solicitude  that  he  should  carry  a  good  conscience 
and  pure  fame  brightening  to  the  end,  would  not  have  feared 
to  concede.  For  he  was  not  ignorant  of  himself;  and  he 
therefore  knew  that  there  was  nothing  within  the  Union,  Con- 
stitution, and  Law,  too  high  or  too  large  or  too  difficult  for 
him.  He  believed  that  his  natural  or  his  acquired  abilities, 
and  his  policy  of  administration,  would  contribute  to  the  true 
glory  of  America  ;  and  he  held  no  theory  of  ethics  which 
required  him  to  disparage,  to  suppress,  to  ignore  vast  capaci- 
ties of  public  service  merely  because  they  were  his  own.  If 
the  fleets  of  Greece  were  assembling,  and  her  tribes  buckling  on 
their  arms  from  Laconia  to  Mount  Olympus,  from  the  prom- 
ontory of  Sunium  to  the  isle  farthest  to  the  west,  and  the  great 
epic  action  was  opening,  it  was  not  for  him  to  feign  insanity  or 
idiocy,  to  escape  the  perils  and  the  honor  of  command.  But 
that  all  this  in  him  had  been  ever  in  subordination  to  a  princi- 
pled and  beautiful  public  virtue;  that  every  sectional  bias,  every 
party  tie,  as  well  as  every  personal  aspiring,  had  been  uniform- 
ly held  by  him  for  nothing  against  the  claims  of  country  ;  that 
nothing  lower  than  country  seemed  worthy  enough — nothing 
smaller  than  country  large  enough  —  for  that  great  heart, 
would  not  have  been  questioned  by  a  whisper.  Ah  !  if  at  any 
hour  before  that  day  he  had  died,  how  would  then  the  great 
procession  of  the  people  of  America  —  the  great  triumphal 
procession  of  the  dead  —  have  moved  onward  to  his  grave  — 
the  sublimity  of  national  sorrow,  not  contrasted,  not  outraged 
by  one  feeble  voice  of  calumny  ! 

In  that  antecedent  public  life,  embracing  from  1812  to  1850 
—  a  period  of  thirty-eight  years  —  I  find  grandest  proofs  of 
the  genuineness  and  comprehensiveness  of  his  patriotism,  and 
the  boldness  and  manliness  of  his  public  virtue.  He  began 
his  career  of  politics  as  a  Federalist.  Such  was  his  father  — 
so  beloved  and  revered ;  such  his  literary  and  professional 
companions;  such,  although  by  no  very  decisive  or  certain 
preponderance,  the  community  in  which  he  was  bred  and  was 
to  live.  Under  that  name  of  party  he  entered  congress,  per- 
sonally, and  by  connection,  opposed  to  the  war,  which  was 
thought  to  bear  with  such  extreme  sectional  severity  upon  the 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER.  549 

North  and  East.  And  yet,  one  miglit  almost  say  that  the  only 
thino-  he  imbibed  from  Federalists  or  Federalism  was  love  and 
admiration  for  the  Constitution  as  the  means  of  union.  That 
passion  he  did  inherit  from  them  ;  that  he  cherished. 

He  came  into  congress,  opposed,  as  I  have  said,  to  the  war ; 
and  behold  him,  if  you  would  judge  of  the  quality  of  his  polit- 
ical ethics,  in  opposition.  Did  those  eloquent  lips,  at  a  time  of 
life  when  vehemence  and  imprudence  are  expected,  if  ever,  and 
not  ungraceful,  let  fall  ever  one  word  of  faction  1  Did  he 
ever  deny  one  power  to  the  general  government,  which  the 
soundest  expositors  of  all  creeds  have  allowed  it  ?  Did  he 
ever  breathe  a  syllable  which  could  excite  .a  region,  a  State,  a 
family  of  States,  against  the  Union,  —  which  could  hold  out 
hope  or  aid  to  the  enemy  ?  —  which  sought  or  tended  to  turn 
back  or  to  chill  the  fiery  tide  of  a  new  and  intense  nationality, 
then  bursting  up,  to  flow  and  burn  till  all  things  appointed  to 
America  to  do  shall  be  fulfilled  ?  These  questions  in  their  sub- 
stance, he  put  to  Mr.  Calhoun,  in  1838,  in  the  senate,  and 
that  great  man — one  of  the  authors  of  the  war — just  then, 
only  then,  in  relations  unfriendly  to  Mr.  Webster,  and  who 
had  just  insinuated  a  reproach  on  his  conduct  in  the  war,  was 
silent.  Did  Mr.  Webster  content  himself  even  with  objecting 
to  the  details  of  the  mode  in  which  the  administration  waged 
the  war  ?  No,  indeed.  Taught  by  his  constitutional  studies 
that  the  Union  was  made  in  part  for  commerce,  familiar  with 
the  habits  of  our  long  line  of  coast,  knowing  well  how  many 
sailors  and  fishermen,  driven  from  every  sea  by  embargo  and 
war,  burned  to  go  to  the  gun-deck  and  avenge  the  long  wrongs 
of  England  on  the  element  where  she  had  inflicted  them,  his 
opposition  to  the  war  manifested  itself  by  teaching  the  nation 
that  the  deck  was  her  field  of  fame.  JVou  illi  imperium  pclagi 
scevumque  tridentum^  sed  nobis^  sorte  datum. 

But  I  might  recall  other  evidence  of  the  sterling  and  un- 
usual qualities  of  his  public  virtue.  Look  in  how  manly  a 
sort  he  —  not  merely  conducted  a  particular  argument  or  a  par- 
ticular speech,  but  in  how  manly  a  sort,  in  how  high  a  moral 
tone,  he  uniformly  dealt  with  the  mind  of  his  country.  Poli- 
ticians got  an  advantage  of  him  for  this  while  he  lived ;  let 
the  dead  have  just  praise  to-day.  Our  public  life  is  one  long 
electioneering,  and  even  Burke  tells  you  that  at  popular  elec- 


550  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

tions  the  most  rig^orous  casuists  will  remit  something-  of  their 
severity.  But  where  do  you  find  him  flattering  his  country- 
men, indirectly  or  directly,  for  a  vote  ]  On  what  did  he  ever 
place  himself  but  good  counsels  and  useful  service?  His  arts 
were  manly  arts,  and  he  never  saw  a  day  of  temptation  when 
he  would  not  rather  fall  than  stand  on  any  other.  Who  ever 
heard  that  voice  cheering  the  people  on  to  rapacity,  to  injustice, 
to  a  vain  and  guilty  glory  ?  Who  ever  saw  that  pencil  of 
light  hold  up  a  picture  of  manifest  destiny  to  dazzle  the  fancy  ? 
How  anxiously  rather,  in  season  and  out,  by  the  energetic 
eloquence  of  his  youth,  by  his  counsels  bequeathed  on  the 
verge  of  a  timely  grave,  he  preferred  to  teach  that  by  all  pos- 
sible acquired  sobriety  of  mind,  by  asking  reverently  of  the 
past,  by  obedience  to  the  law,  by  habits  of  patient  and  legiti- 
mate labor,  by  the  cultivation  of  the  mind,  by  the  fear  and 
worship  of  God,  we  educate  ourselves  for  the  future  that  is 
revealing.  Men  said  he  did  not  sympathize  with  the  masses, 
because  his  phraseology  was  rather  of  an  old  and  simple  school, 
rejecting  the  nauseous  and  vain  repetitions  of  humanity  and 
philanthropy,  and  progress  and  brotherhood,  in  which  may 
lurk  heresies  so  dreadful,  of  socialism  or  disunion ;  in  which 
a  selfish,  hollow,  and  shallow  ambition  may  mask  itself,  —  the 
siren  song  which  would  lure  the  pilot  from  his  course.  But 
I  say  that  he  did  sympathize  with  them  ;  and,  because  he  did, 
he  came  to  them  not  with  adulation,  but  with  truth ;  not  with 
words  to  please,  but  with  measures  to  serve  them ;  not  that 
his  popular  sympathies  were  less,  but  that  his  personal  and 
intellectual  dignity  and  his  public  morality  were  greater. 

And  on  the  seventh  day  of  March,  and  down  to  the  final 
scene,  might  he  not  still  say  as  ever  before,  that  "  all  the  ends 
he  aimed  at  were  his  country's,  his  God's,  and  truth's."  He 
declared,  "  I  speak  to-day  for  the  preservation  of  the  Union. 
Hear  me  for  my  cause.  I  speak  to-day  out  of  a  solicitous 
and  anxious  heart  for  the  restoration  to  the  country  of  that 
quiet  and  harmony,  which  make  the  blessings  of  this  Union  so 
rich  and  so  dear  to  us  all.  These  are  the  motives  and  the 
sole  motives  that  influence  me."  If  in  that  declaration  he 
was  sincere,  was  he  not  bound  in  conscience  to  give  the  coun- 
sels of  that  day  1  What  were  they  ]  What  was  the  single 
one  for  which  his  political  morality  was  called  in  question '? 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER.  551 

Only  that  a  provision  of  the  Federal  Constitution,  ordaining 
the  restitution  of  fugitive  slaves,  should  be  executed  according 
to  its  true  meaning.  This  only.  And  might  he  not  in  good 
conscience  keep  the  Constitution  in  this  part,  and  in  all,  for 
the  preservation  of  tlie  Union  ^ 

Under  his  oath  to  support  it,  and  to  support  it  all,  and  with 
his  opinions  of  that  duty  so  long  held,  proclaimed  uniformly, 
in  whose  vindication  on  some  great  days,  he  had  found  the 
chief  opportunity  of  his  personal  glory,  might  he  not,  in  good 
conscience  support  it,  and  all  of  it,  even  if  he  could  not  —  and 
no  human  intelligence  could,  certainly  —  know,  that  the  extreme 
evil  would  follow,  in  immediate  consequence,  its  violation '? 
Was  it  so  recent  a  doctrine  of  his  that  the  Constitution  was 
obligatory  upon  the  national  and  individual  conscience,  that 
you  should  ascribe  it  to  sudden  and  irresistible  temptation  ? 
Why,  what  had  he,  quite  down  to  the  seventh  of  March,  that 
more  truly  individualized  him  1  —  what  had  he  more  character- 
istically his  own  "?  —  wherewithal  had  he  to  glory  more  or  other 
than  all  beside,  than  this  very  doctrine  of  the  sacred  and  per- 
manent obligation  to  support  each  and  all  parts  of  that  great 
compact  of  union  and  justice '?  Had  not  this  been  his  dis- 
tinction, his  speciality^  —  almost  the  foible  of  his  greatness, 
—  the  darling  and  master  passion  ever?  Consider  that  that 
was  a  sentiment  which  had  been  part  of  his  conscious  nature 
for  more  than  sixty  years ;  that  from  the  time  he  bought  his 
first  copy  of  the  Constitution  on  the  handkerchief,  and  revered 
parental  lips  had  commended  it  to  him,  with  all  other  holy  and 
beautiful  things,  along  with  lessons  of  reverence  to  God,  and 
the  belief  and  love  of  His  Scriptures,  along  with  the  doctrine 
of  the  catechism,  the  unequalled  music  of  Watts,  the  name  of 
Washington,  —  there  had  never  been  an  hour  that  he  had  not 
held  it  the  master  work  of  man,  — just  in  its  ethics,  consum- 
mate in  its  practical  wisdom,  paramount  in  its  injunctions ; 
that  every  year  of  life  had  deepened  the  original  impression  ; 
that  as  his  mind  opened,  and  his  associations  widened,  he  found 
that  every  one  for  whom  he  felt  respect,  instructors,  theological 
and  moral  teachers,  his  entire  party  connection,  the  opposite 
party,  and  the  whole  country,  so  held  it,  too ;  that  its  fruits 
of  more  than  half  a  century  of  union,  of  happiness,  of  renown, 
bore  constant  and  clear  witness  to  it  in  his  mind,  and  that  it 


552  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

chanced  that  certain  emergent  and  rare  occasions  had  devolved 
on  him  to  stand  forth  to  maintain  it,  to  vindicate  its  interpreta- 
tion, to  vindicate  its  authority,  to  unfold  its  workings  and  uses ; 
that  he  had  so  acquitted  himself  of  that  opportunity  as  to  have 
won  the  title  of  its  Expounder  and  Defender,  so  that  his 
proudest  memories,  his  most  prized  renown,  referred  to  it,  and 
were  entwined  with  it  —  and  say  whether  with  such  antece- 
dents, readiness  to  execute,  or  disposition  to  evade,  would  have 
been  the  hardest  to  explain  ;  likeliest  to  suggest  the  surmise 
of  a  new  temptation  !  He  who  knows  anything  of  man, 
knows  that  his  vote  for  beginning-  the  restoration  of  harmony 
by  keeping  the  whole  Constitution,  was  determined,  was  neces- 
sitated, by  the  great  law  of  sequences,  —  a  great  law  of  cause 
and  effect,  running  back  to  his  mother's  arms,  as  resistless  as 
the  law  which  moves  the  system  about  the  sun,  —  and  that  he 
must  have  given  it,  although  it  had  been  opened  to  him  in 
vision,  that  within  the  next  natural  day  his  "  eyes  should  be 
turned  to  behold  for  the  last  time  the  sun  in  heaven." 

To  accuse  him  in  tliat  act  of  "  sinning  against  his  own  con- 
science," is  to  charge  one  of  these  things :  either  that  no  well- 
instructed  conscience  can  approve  and  maintain  the  Constitu- 
tion, and  each  of  its  parts,  and  therefore  that  his,  by  infer- 
ence, did  not  approve  it ;  or  that  he  had  never  employed  the 
proper,  means  of  instructing  his  conscience,  and  therefore  its 
approval,  if  it  were  given,  was  itself  an  immorality.  The 
accuser  must  assert  one  of  these  propositions.  He  will  not 
deny,  I  take  it  for  granted,  that  the  conscience  requires  to  be 
instructed  by  political  teaching,  in  order  to  guide  the  citizen, 
or  the  public  man,  aright,  in  the  matter  of  political  duties. 
Will  he  say  that  the  moral  sentiments  alone,  whatever  their 
origin  —  whether  factitious  and  derivative,  or  parcel  of  the 
spirit  of  the  child  and  born  with  it  —  that  they  alone,  by  force 
of  strict  and  mere  ethical  training,  become  qualified  to  pro- 
nounce authoritatively  whether  the  Constitution,  or  any  other 
vast  and  complex  civil  policy,  as  a  whole,  whereby  a  nation  is 
created  and  preserved,  ought  to  have  been  made,  or  ought  to 
be  executed  ?  Will  he  venture  to  tell  you,  that  if  your  con- 
science approves  the  Union,  the  Constitution  in  all  its  parts, 
and  the  law  which  administers  it,  that  you  are  bound  to  obey 
and  uphold  them  ;  and  if  it  disapproves,  you  must,  according 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER.  fj^S 

to  your  measure,  and  in  your  circles  of  agitation,  disobey  and 
subvert  them,  and  leave  the  matter  there  —  forgetting  or  de- 
signedly omitting  to  tell  you  also  that  you  are  bound,  in  all 
good  faith  and  diligence  to  resort  to  studies  and  to  teachers  ab 
extra  —  in  order  to  determine  whether  the  conscience  ought  to 
approve  or  disapprove  the  Union,  the  Constitution,  and  the 
law,  in  vieiv  of  the  lohole  aggregate  of  their  nature  and  fruits  ? 
Does  he  not  perfectly  know  that  this  moral  faculty,  however 
trained,  by  mere  moral  institution,  specifically  directed  to  that 
end,  to  be  tender,  sensitive,  and  peremptory,  is  totally  unequal 
to  decide  on  any  action,  or  any  thing,  but  the  very  simplest; 
that  which  produces  the  most  palpable  and  immediate  result  of 
unmixed  good,  or  unmixed  evil ;  and  that  when  it  comes  to 
judge  on  the  great  mixed  cases  of  the  world,  where  the  con- 
sequences are  numerous,  their  development  slow  and  succes- 
sive, the  light  and  shadow  of  a  blended  and  multiform  good 
and  evil  spread  out  on  the  lifetime  of  a  nation,  that  then 
morality  must  borrow  from  history ;  from  politics ;  from  rea- 
son operating  on  history  and  politics,  her  elements  of  deter- 
mination \  I  think  he  must  agree  to  this.  He  must  agree,  I 
think,  that  to  single  out  one  provision  in  a  political  system  of 
many  parts  and  of  elaborate  interdependence,  to  take  it  all 
alone,  exactly  as  it  stands,  and  without  attention  to  its  origin 
and  history ;  the  necessities,  morally  resistless,  which  pre- 
scribed its  introduction  into  the  system,  the  unmeasured  good 
in  other  forms  which  its  allowance  buys,  the  unmeasured  evil 
in  other  forms  which  its  allowance  hinders  —  without  attention 
to  these,  to  present  it  in  all  "  the  nakedness  of  a  metaphysical 
abstraction"  to  the  mere  sensibilities;  and  ask  if  it  is  not 
inhuman,  and  if  they  answer  according  to  their  kind,  that  it 
is,  then  to  say  that  the  problem  is  solved,  and  the  right  of  dis- 
obedience is  made  clear  —  he  must  agree  that  this  is  not  to 
exalt  reason  and  conscience,  but  to  outrage  both.  He  must 
agree  that  although  the  supremacy  of  conscience  is  absolute 
whether  the  decision  be  right  or  wrong,  that  is,  according  to 
the  real  qualities  of  things  or  not,  that  there  lies  back  of  the 
actual  conscience,  and  its  actual  decisions,  the  great  anterior 
duty  of  having  a  conscience  that  shall  decide  according  to  the 
real  qualities  of  things ;  that  to  this  vast  attainment  some 
adequate  knowledge  of  the  real  qualities  of  the  things  which 

VOL.  I.  47 


554  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

are  to  be  subjected  to  its  inspection  is  indispensable ;  tbat  if 
the  matter  to  be  judged  of  is  any  thing  so  large,  complex,  and 
conventional  as  the  duty  of  the  citizen,  or  the  public  man,  to 
the  State ;  the  duty  of  preserving  or  destroying  the  order  of 
things  in  which  we  are  born  ;  the  duty  of  executing  or  viola- 
ting one  of  the  provisions  of  organic  law  which  the  country, 
having  a  wide  and  clear  view  before  and  after,  had  deemed  a 
needful  instrumental  means  for  the  preservation  of  that  order ; 
that  then  it  is  not  enough  to  relegate  the  citizen,  or  the  public 
man,  to  a  higher  law,  and  an  interior  illumination,  and  leave 
him  there.  Such  discourse  is  "  as  the  stars,  which  give  so 
little  light  because  they  are  so  high."  He  must  agree  that  in 
such  case,  morality  itself  should  go  to  school.  There  must  be 
science  as  well  as  conscience,  as  old  Fuller  has  said.  She 
must  herself  learn  of  history  ;  she  must  learn  of  politics  ;  she 
must  consult  the  builders  of  the  State,  the  living  and  the  dead, 
to  know  its  value,  its  aspects  in  the  long  run,  on  happiness  and 
morals ;  its  dangers  ;  the  means  of  its  preservation  ;  the  max- 
ims and  arts  imperial  of  its  glory.  To  fit  her  to  be  the  mis- 
tress of  civil  life,  he  will  agree,  that  she  must  come  out  for  a 
space  from  the  interior  round  of  emotions,  and  subjective  states 
and  contemplations,  and  introspection,  "  cloistered,  unexercised, 
unbreathed  "  —  and,  carrying  with  her  nothing  but  her  tender- 
ness, her  scrupulosity,  and  her  love  of  truth,  survey  the  object- 
ive realities  of  the  State ;  ponder  thoughtfully  on  the  compli- 
cations, and  impediments,  and  antagonisms  which  make  the 
noblest  politics  but  an  aspiring,  an  approximation,  a  compro- 
mise, a  type,  a  shadow  of  good  to  come,  "  the  buying  of  great 
blessings  at  great  prices"  —  and  there  learn  civil  duty  secun- 
dum suhjectam  materiam.  "Add  to  your  virtue  knowledge" 
—  or  it  is  no  virtue. 

And  now,  is  he  who  accuses  Mr.  Webster  of  "  sinning 
against  his  own  conscience,"  quite  sure  that  he  Jcnoivs^  that 
that  conscience,  —  well  instructed  by  profoundest  political  stud- 
dies,  and  thoughts  of  the  reason  ;  well  instructed  by  an  a])pro- 
priate  moral  institution  sedulously  applied,  did  not  commend 
and  approve  his  conduct  to  himself^  Does  he  know,  that  he 
had  not  anxiously,  and  maturely  studied  the  ethics  of  the  Con- 
stitution, and  as  a  question  of  ethics^  but  of  ethics  applied  to 
a  stupendous  problem  of  practical  Hfe,  and  had  not  become  sat- 


EULOGY  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER.         555 

isfied  that  they  were  right  ?  Does  lie  know  tliat  he  had  not 
done  tliis,  when  his  facidties  were  all  at  their  best ;  and  his 
motives  under  no  suspicion  ?  May  not  such  an  inquirer,  for 
aught  you  can  know,  may  not  that  great  mind  have  verily 
and  conscientiously  thought  that  he  had  learned  in  that  inves- 
tigation many  things  ?  May  he  not  have  thought  that  he 
learned,  that  the  duty  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  free  States,  in 
that  day's  extremity,  to  the  republic,  the  duty  at  all  events  of 
statesmen,  to  the  republic,  is  a  little  too  large,  and  delicate, 
and  difficult,  to  be  all  comprehended  in  the  single  emotion  of 
compassion  for  one  class  of  persons  in  the  commonwealth,  or 
in  carrying  out  the  single  principle  of  abstract,  and  natural, 
and  violent  justice  to  one  class  ^  May  he  not  have  thought 
that  he  found  there  some  stupendous  exemplifications  of  what 
we  read  of,  in  books  of  casuistry,  the  '■'  dialectics  of  con- 
science," as  conflicts  of  duties  ;  such  things  as  the  conflicts  of 
the  greater  with  the  less  ;  conflicts  of  the  attainable  with  the 
visionary ;  conflicts  of  the  real  with  the  seeming  ;  and  may 
he  not  have  been  soothed  to  learn  that  the  evil  which  he 
found  in  this  part  of  the  Constitution  was  the  least  of  two ; 
was  unavoidable ;  Nvas  compensated  ;  was  justified ;  was  com- 
manded, as  by  a  voice  from  the  Mount,  by  a  more  exceeding- 
and  enduring  good  ^  May  he  not  have  thought  that  he  had 
learned,  that  the  grandest,  most  difficult,  most  pleasing  to 
God,  of  the  achievements  of  secular  wisdom  and  philanthro- 
py, is  the  building  of  a  State ;  that  of  the  first  class  of  gran- 
deur and  difficulty,  and  acceptableness  to  Him,  in  this  kind, 
was  the  building  of  our  own :  that  unless  everybody  of  conse- 
quence enough  to  be  heard  of  in  the  age  and  generation  of 
Washington, —  unless  that  whole  age  and  generation  weie  in 
a  conspiracy  to  cheat  themselves,  and  history,  and  posterity,  a 
certain  policy  of  concession  and  forbearance  of  region  to  re- 
gion, was  indispensable  to  rear  that  master  work  of  man  ;  and 
that  that  same  policy  of  concession  and  forbearance  is  as  indis- 
pensable, more  so,  now,  to  aftbrd  a  rational  ground  of  hope 
for  its  preservation  1  May  he  not  have  thought  that  he  had 
learned  that  the  obligation,  if  such  in  any  sense  you  may  call 
it,  of  one  State  to  allow  itself  to  become  an  asylum  for  those 
flying  from  slavery  into  another  State,  was  an  obligation  of 
benevolence,  of  humanity  only,  not  of  justice ;  that  it  must. 


556  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

therefore,  on  ethical  principles,  be  exercised  under  all  the  limi- 
tations which  regulate  and  condition  the  benevolence  of  States  ; 
that  therefore  each  is  to  exercise  it  in  strict  subordination  to 
its  own  interests,  estimated  by  a  wise  statesmanship,  and  a 
well-instructed  public  conscience ;  that  benevolence  itself,  even 
its  ministrations  of  mere  good-will,  is  an  afiair  of  measure 
and  of  proportions ;  and  must  choose  sometimes  between  the 
greater  good,  and  the  less;  that  if,  to  the  highest  degree,  and 
widest  diffusion  of  human  happiness,  a  Union  of  States  such  as 
ours,  some  free,  some  not  so,  was  necessary;  and  to  such 
Union  the  Constitution  was  necessary ;  and  to  such  a  Consti- 
tution this  clause  was  necessary,  humanity  itself  prescribes  it, 
and  presides  in  it  ]  May  he  not  have  thought  that  he  learned 
that  thei'e  are  proposed  to  humanity  in  this  world  many  fields 
of  beneficent  exertion  ;  some  larger,  some  smaller,  some  more, 
some  less  expensive  and  profitable  to  till ;  that  among  these  it 
is  always  lawful,  and  often  indispensable  to  make  a  choice  ; 
that  sometimes,  to  acquire  the  right  or  the  ability  to  labor  in 
one,  it  is  needful  to  covenant  not  to  invade  another  ;  and  that 
such  covenant,  in  partial  restraint,  rather  in  reasonable  direc- 
tion of  philanthropy,  is  good  in  the  forum  of  conscience  ;  and 
setting  out  with  these  very  elementary  maxims  of  practical 
morals,  may  he  not  have  thought  that  he  learned  from  the  care- 
ful study  of  the  facts  of  our  history  and  opinions,  that  to  ac- 
quire the  power  of  advancing  the  dearest  interests  of  man, 
through  generations  countless,  by  that  unequalled  security  of 
peace  and  progress,  the  Union  ;  the  power  of  advancing  the 
interest  of  each  State,  each  region,  each  relation — the  slave 
and  the  master  ;  the  power  of  subjecting  a  whole  continent 
all  astir,  and  on  fire  with  the  emulation  of  young  republics  ; 
of  subjecting  it,  through  ages  of  household  calm,  to  the  sweet 
influences  of  Christianity,  of  .culture,  of  the  great,  gentle,  and 
sure  reformer,  time;  that  to  enable  us  to  do  this,  to  enable  us 
to  grasp  this  boundless  and  ever-renewing  harvest  of  philan- 
thropy, it  would  hav^e  been  a  good  bargain  —  that  humanity 
herself  would  have  approved  it  —  to  have  bound  ourselves 
never  so  much  as  to  look  across  the  line  into  the  enclosure  of 
Southern  municipal  slavery  ;  certainly  never  to  enter  it ;  still 
less,  still  less,  to 


EULOGY   ON  DANIEL  AVEBSTER.  Qg^ 

"  Pluck  its  berries  harsh  and  crude, 
And  with  forced  fingers  rude 
Shatter  its  leaves  before  the  mellowing  year." 

Until  the  accuser  who  charges  him,  now  that  he  is  in  his 
grave,  with  "  having  sinned  against  his  conscience,"  will  assert 
that  the  conscience  of  a  public  man  may  not,  must  not,  be  in- 
structed by  profound  knowledge  of  the  vast  subject-matter 
with  which  public  life  is  conversant  —  even  as  the  conscience 
of  the  mariner  may  be  and  must  be  instructed  by  the  knowl- 
edge of  navigation ;  and  that  of  the  pilot  by  the  knowledge 
of  the  depths  and  shallows  of  the  coast ;  and  that  of  the  en- 
gineer of  the  boat  and  the  train,  by  the  knowledge  of  the  ca- 
pacities of  his  mechanism  to  achieve  a  proposed  velocity  ;  and 
will  assert  that  he  is  certain  that  the  consummate  science  of 
our  great  statesman,  vjcis  felt  hy  himself  to  prescribe  to  his 
morality  another  conduct  than  that  whicli  he  adopted,  and  that 
he  thus  consciously  outraged  that  "  sense  of  duty  which  pur- 
sues us  ever  "  —  is  he  not  inexcusable,  whoever  he  is,  that  so 
judges  another  \ 

But  it  is  time  that  this  eulogy  was  spoken.  My  heart  goes 
back  into  the  coffin  there  with  him,  and  I  would  pause.  I 
went — it  is  a  day  or  two  since  —  alone,  to  see  again  the 
home  which  he  so  dearly  loved,  the  chamber  where  he  died, 
the  grave  in  which  they  laid  him  —  all  habited  as  when 

"  His  look  drew  audience  still  as  night, 
Or  summer's  noontide  air," 

till  the  heavens  be  no  more.  Throughout  that  spacious  and 
calm  scene  all  things  to  the  eye  showed  at  first  unchanged. 
The  books  in  the  library,  the  portraits,  the  table  at  which  he 
wrote,  the  scientific  culture  of  the  land,  the  course  of  agricul- 
tural occupation,  the  coming-in  of  harvests,  fruit  of  the  seed 
his  own  hand  had  scattered,  the  animals  and  implements  of 
husbandry,  the  trees  planted  by  him  in  lines,  in  copses,  in  or- 
chards, by  thousands,  the  seat  under  the  noble  elm  on  which 
he  used  to  sit  to  feel  the  southwest  wind  at  evening,  or  hear 
the  breathings  of  the  sea,  or  the  not  less  audible  music  of  the 
starry  heavens,  all  seemed  at  first  unchanged.  The  sun  of  a 
bright  day,  from  which,  however,  something  of  the  fervors  of 
mid-summer  were  wanting,  fell  temperately  on  them  all,  filled 
the  air  on  all  sides  with  the  utterances  of  life,  and  gleamed  on 


558  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES. 

the  long  line  of  ocean.  Some  of  those  whom  on  earth  he 
loved  best,  still  were  there.  The  great  mind  still  seemed  to 
preside  ;  the  great  presence  to  be  with  you  ;  you  might  expect 
to  hear  again  the  rich  and  playful  tones  of  the  voice  of  the  old 
hospitality.  Yet  a  moment  more,  and  all  the  scene  took  on  the 
aspect  of  one  great  monument,  inscribed  with  his  name,  and 
sacred  to  his  memory.  And  such  it  shall  be  in  all  the  future  of 
America  !  The  sensation  of  desolateness,  and  loneliness,  and 
darkness,  with  which  you  see  it  now,  will  pass  away  ;  the 
sharp  grief  of  love  and  friendship  will  become  soothed ;  men 
will  repair  thither  as  they  are  wont  to  commemorate  the  great 
days  of  history ;  the  same  glance  shall  take  in,  and  the  same 
emotions  shall  greet  and  bless  the  Harbor  of  the  Pilgrims,  and 
the  Tomb  of  Webster. 


END    OF     VOLUME    I. 


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